#our genius brains connected

[spectacledraws]

Art fight revenge of Professor Tuckamore (@decamarks)!!

Love this genius oc concept so much 😭 This really made me nostalgic for Pokémon and its weird glitches!

#art fight #oc #Pokémon glitches are so iconic of my early days on the internet.. #the classic tweaking technique #lmao this is so coincidentally similar to the last attack I got!! scientists on bikes w/ similar colors.. so weird hehe #got it as I was finishing this one up and I was like wait.. #our genius brains connected

[demobatman]

me and megan both getting the vanishing of will byers question wrong we are literally soulmates

#our big giant genius brain connection #stranger things day #megan thee stallion

[amongemeraldclouds]

Down Bad

Theo runs to the Astronomy Tower to confess his feelings for you before it’s too late.

Theodore Nott x f!Reader

Warning: fluff, no use of y/n, kissing. Inspired by the Taylor Swift song with the same title. The first paragraph may sound grim, but I swear this is a fluff piece!

✿ Masterlist | 762 words

Theodore Nott had really screwed up this time. His lungs burned and his heart pounded as he raced towards the Astronomy Tower where he was about to lose the love of his life. If he was too late, you would never know how he felt. Let alone have the future he wanted with you. No, he can’t think that way.

He allowed himself a moment catch his breath when he reached the top of the Astronomy Tower. When he saw you looking out beyond the ledge, his worst fears were confirmed. He ran towards you and grabbed your waist, holding tight as he walked backwards. You yelped in surprise, struggling against your unexpected assailant.

The struggle sends you both toppling down the floor, away from the ledge. You squirmed beneath - oh, Theo. Your breath caught in your throat when you realized he’s on top of you. Salazar, everything about him was so beautiful. You kicked yourself internally, willing your brain to catch up with your heart.

“What in Salazar’s name, Theo! What are you doing?” You seethed, angry and confused. You had been avoiding him for a week since he broke your heart. Picture this: you finally mustered up the courage to confess your feelings for your childhood best friend only to be met by silence - not even rejection, just silence. Like your feelings were not even worth his words. And now he tackles you?

“No, I should be saying that to you. What are you thinking jumping off from the Astronomy Tower? You can’t just leave me before I tell you that I love you too.” His intense gaze burned into you.

You blinked at his words, confused. “Pray tell, dear genius, what does one do at the Astronomy Tower?”

It was his turn to blink back in confusion. He looked off to your side and noticed your telescope and scattered instruments. He was too stunned to speak.

“I was doing our Astronomy homework, you dolt, which you would know about if you weren’t busy skiving off with Mattheo.”

“But Pansy said you’ve been depressed lately and was alone in the Astronomy Tower,” he thought back at the conversation. Sure, you had been down bad for him and because of him this week. You couldn’t even get through quidditch practice without crying and cursing his name.

And yet - “So you just assumed I’m going to throw my life away for you?” You scoffed. “I’ll get over you someday, but I don’t know how you’ll ever get over yourself,” you teased. It was adorable how his cheeks blushed in embarrassment though you hated how quickly your anger faded.

He buried his head into the crook of your neck to hide in shame just like all those times you’ve cuddled together. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders out of habit. “I didn’t know what I was thinking,” he admitted. 

“So there is hope yet for you and your ego,” you mused before your mind snagged on the rest of his words. “Wait, did you tell me you love me?”

He raised his head and looked back at you, “I did. I’m sorry I froze when you confessed your feelings. You deserved better. I’m not good with these things, but for you I will try. I love you. Ti amo così tanto.”

“Well, you already know how I feel,” you deadpanned, trying to channel your teenage petulance despite the warmth blooming in your chest. 

“I don’t get to hear it again?” He asked with a hopeful expression.

“No,” you replied, tilting your head away from him though you couldn’t hide the grin on your face.

“Too bad, I was hoping to kiss you after you said it.”

You looked back at him, returning the challenge, “kiss me and maybe I’ll say it.” 

So he did. Electric bliss shot through you the instant your lips connected. His lips were soft and warm, the taste of cigarettes and mint mingled together as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip. You gasped at the sensation and he took the opportunity to explore your mouth.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was a hundred ‘finally’s melting together into this one euphoric moment. You ran your hands through his hair, needing him closer. Needing more.

The kiss was over way too soon as he propped himself on his elbows to look at you. He saw everything he needed to know in your expressive eyes. Still, he asked, “will you tell me now?”

“No,” you bit back a smile.

“Guess I’ll just have to kiss you more.”

✿ Masterlist

A/N: A literal Down Bad moment with Theo tackling you bahahaha.

#theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott fluff #theo nott #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #ts ttpd #ttpd #ttpd era #down bad #amongemeraldcloudswrites

[barelytolerabled]

Unexpected Chemistry

Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: You, a new member join the BAU team and learn about Spencer Reid's germophobia, especially his theory about kissing being less germ contagious

Warnings: none

WC: 1.034

Taglist: @envraijesaispas @rosecentury @taygrls @thisismeraki @thenerdthatwrites @bigbunnygucci

You stepped into the BAU bullpen, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Today was your first day as the newest member of the team, and you were eager to prove yourself. As you glanced around, taking in the familiar faces and busy agents, you noticed the whispers and knowing glances exchanged among your colleagues.

Curiosity piqued, you approached one of your future teammates, Emily Prentiss. The dark-haired agent flashed you a knowing smile before leaning in conspiratorially.

"Welcome to the BAU," she said, her voice low. "Just a heads up, our resident genius, Spencer Reid, has a bit of a germophobia."

"Really?" you asked, intrigued. "In what way?"

Emily chuckled. "He's known for his fact about kissing being more hygienic than shaking hands. It's become kind of a running joke around here."

A mischievous grin tugged at your lips. You were an extroverted and confident woman, unafraid to take risks. And if Spencer Reid had a thing about germs, well, you couldn't resist the temptation to playfully test his limits.

Later that day, the team gathered in the conference room for their usual briefing. You sat eagerly, ready to dive into the world of profiling and investigations. The door swung open, and in walked Spencer Reid, his lanky frame adorned in his characteristic cardigan.

Your breath hitched as your eyes met his. There was something undeniably captivating about the way his hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence. He took a moment to scan the room, his gaze briefly settling on you before moving on. It was now or never.

Standing up abruptly, you made your way over to him, your heart pounding in your chest. Spencer's brow furrowed in confusion as you closed the distance between you.

"Hi," you greeted, your voice laced with confidence. "I'm the newest member of the team. It's so nice to meet you.", you said your name.

Before he had a chance to respond, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, a quick and playful peck. A chorus of gasps and surprised murmurs filled the room. Spencer's eyes widened in astonishment, frozen in place.

"Oh, sorry," you said, stepping back with a playful smile. "I just figured a kiss would be better than a handshake."

Emily burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. Hotch struggled to keep a straight face, while Morgan raised an appreciative eyebrow. Garcia let out a delighted squeal, finding the situation highly amusing.

Spencer blinked rapidly, his brain attempting to catch up with the unexpected turn of events. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he stammered out a response.

"I, um... I... Uh, yes, that's... statistically accurate," he managed to utter, his voice a little higher than usual.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension dissipating in the room. It seemed you had managed to catch the brilliant Dr. Reid off guard, and it delighted you.

From that moment on, Spencer and you formed a unique bond. The initial surprise gave way to a playful dynamic between you, filled with teasing banter and lighthearted flirtation.

He discovered that your outgoing nature and confidence were refreshing, a counterbalance to his more introverted tendencies.

As days turned into weeks, your relationship with Spencer deepened. Beyond the initial prank, you saw the real man beneath the genius exterior—kind, compassionate, and fiercely loyal. He shared his vulnerabilities with you, trusting you with parts of himself that few had ever seen.

With time, the playful kisses transformed into

tender embraces and lingering gazes. Your connection went beyond the initial joke, evolving into something deeper and more profound. The germophobia that had once defined him faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of your affection.

In the midst of high-pressure cases and the constant darkness of their work, you and Spencer found solace in each other. You became his anchor, providing him with love and support when he needed it most. And he, in turn, showered you with the kind of intellectual and emotional intimacy that made your heart soar.

So, as you walked side by side, hand in hand, through the corridors of the BAU, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. Your unconventional first encounter had set the stage for a beautiful love story—one that proved that sometimes, the unexpected and bold choices could lead to the most extraordinary connections.

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds oneshot #criminal minds

[eternalsa2z]

Savant 2 Fantasy Trophies

(This is a continuation of a previous post called Savant. Because what's better than one secret bimbo genius? Two of them...duh!)

I tried to be happy playing fantasy with my secret silly weapon. But somehow it didn't feel right. Maybe it was my competitive side. Maybe I felt I didn't deserve a bimbo savant like Kiki. Or maybe it was some secret curiosity about exactly how she thought about things. So I asked her to help me understand what goes on inside that bimbo brain of hers.

"Like...you sure you wanna learn from a ditzy doll like me?" she asked incredulously. Eyes wide. Shining with excitement. I nodded and she squealed and hugged me. "OMG yaaaaaay! I soooo wanted a fantasy friend. A bimbo bestie who just, like, gets me...ya know?"

So soon I was being coached by an absolute cutie. Trained to look, act, and talk like her. Because as Kiki says, "Like, to be good at fantasy you gotta BE a fantasy. Duh!" It didn't really make sense. But I'll admit that when we went to a Super Bowl party dressed up in identical outfits, I felt a connection. Even if I just had a breastplate and wig on...I couldn't help but smiling just a brightly as my bestie.

The training continued all summer. Kiki said I needed, like, a state of empty serenity. To clear my head of all my old thoughts. To just focus on picking out a cute outfit, like footballers select their cleats. Memorize how to get my makeup juuuuuust right, like a player putting on eyeblack. How to strut and sparkle and shine, just like a superstar fantasy stud. Or in my case...a superstar fantasy bimbo babe nicknamed Nally!

By the end of summer, things started to fit into place. Not just the thinkys. But, like, my body and stuff. Kiki was sooooo nice and saved some winnings from last year so I could get some lip filler, cute hair extensions, and real boobies!!! OMG we were, like, breasties now!

When draft time came and we showed up in these adorable 'lil outfits, it sooooo made sense. My costume was, like, my strategy! There was a cowboy hat cuz the Cowboys players were soooo sexy this year. Big high heels that were, like, hard to run in cuz running boys are less important to me. Oh and everything is red since, like, we watched that super good red team win the Superb Owl last year and they'll totes be hawt again!

I couldn't explain it. It was, like insti...instink...er, just felt right, ya know? Kiki was soooo supportive and even, like, finished my thoughts for me if I got too giggly or blank for too long. She's not just a great teacher...she's, like, a total awesum teammate to me. Oh and she even, like, started joking about 'Nally's Fantasy Lyfe' which turned into the cuuuutest team name for the year. NFL! Isn't Kiki is soooo clever?

By the end of the year, like, I was sooooo happy! Kiki and Nally, like, both won all our leagues. I was sooooo proud that I was a strong, independent bimbo who just needed another bimbo to show me what to do. I'm like a sav...savvy...er, secret smartie skirt just like Kiki now! Or at least a trophy doll just like my breastie.

Oh ya! Like, speaking of breasties, I'm suuuuuper proud of my boobies too! Kiki suggested I do 'TDs for titties' so like every time a player of mine scored, like, I'd add a CC of silly-cone too my chest. As you can see, like, I did GREAT this year. So great that Kiki and I both got all dolled up to celebrate!

We were also dressed all pretty and stuff cuz we went to a special Superb Owl party. Not to watch the game, of course. I can barely focus on anything but the short commercials anyways. But since, like, it was kinda boring to win soooo much, Kiki wanted to introduce us to another fantasy group. One filled with other fantasy bimbo smarties just like us!

The competition next year will be fierce but the prizes will be enorm...humung...er, like, as big as the fake titties the winner gets! Losing also isn't so bad. Like, you get to be 'lil lesbian pet of the winner alllll summer. A lit-er-all fantasy trophy IRL. Honestly, like, Nally is trying to find a way to trade all her best players to her breastie so they can be top and bottom. Like, being a bimbo doll is the least Nally can do to thank Kiki for, like, showing her how to be a fantasy savant too!

#bimboification #hypnosis #m2f transformation #sweet

[homunculus-argument]

The absolutely funniest dynamic between characters is when the antagonists are racking their brains over trying to figure out what the fuck the protagonist is doing, what is this scheming mastermind's ultimate plan, what game are they playing. There is no way that someone is so oddly connected to all these Significant Incidents by chance, and survived all of it. What cunning machiavellian genius is this person, who mocks us with their false modest "I'm just a normal person idk how I'm tangled into this either". Lying right at our faces to taunt us just because they know we haven't caugh them.

Meanwhile the same protagonist is in the middle of another problem they got tangled into, they have no idea what they're doing and they've got no plan at all. And they have no idea how they end up getting into so much dangerously stupid nonsense either, not to mention continuously surviving it.

[hotchfiles]

prompt 7 with spencer & bau!wife!reader? :)

let's celebrate valentine's with the criminal minds squad! 7. slow-dancing in the living room

it wasn’t even a proper hotel, just a cozy inn. smaller the town, smaller the installations after all. you couldn't complain though (probably legally couldn't too), the couch in front of the fireplace was comfortable and warm, keeping you company as you went through the files from the case over and over again. it was a bad habit of yours, your brain usually made better connections late at night, although your genius of a husband never agreed when you told him that. that's a myth, love, he would always tell you while rambling about how biologically our brains worked better at sunlight.

you feel his scent before he even stops in front of you, droopy smile on his face, two mugs in hand. "happy valentine's day, night owl." he hands you the mug, filled to the brim with fresh hot coffee. you look quickly at your phone, midnight. you take the mug and take a sip, looking back at him with all the adoring feelings you had for him and he takes the opportunity to brush his lips against your forehead.

"happy valentine's day, pretty boy." he scoffs at the nickname, but still offers his hand for you to take, putting his own mug on the coffee table in front of you before pulling you up to him.

spencer knew very well how much you liked valentine's day, you were always a romantic at heart, bringing heart shaped cookies to the squad, writing cards, the whole spiel, it was always unfortunate when a case like this didn't give him a chance to do something special, a proper date with the proper expensive wine, so he tried to make it up in little ways, like not getting on your nerves about going to bed and having coffee at midnight.

"did you know—" his arms drop to your waist, holding you close, you look at him with taunt in your eyes. it had become sort of a challenge for him, to come up with at least one valentine's day fact he hadn't already told you during your years working together and the three of your relationship. "february fourteen was believed to be the start of birds' mating season, that's why the date relates to romance and love so much." you both stay silence for a second, as he waits for your reaction. you only smile and peck him on the lips.

"that's a new one, i surely didn't know that." victory spreads through his face as he pumps one of his arms and whispers a lingering yes that makes you laugh. before you even realize he's humming in your ear and your head is laid on his chest.

it takes a while for you to recognize what he's humming as he softly sways you both around:

the waltz from your wedding.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer x reader #reid x reader #reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #reid imagine #reid scenario

[symbioticfic]

Producing Pleasure: Prologue

(Main story of Idol Alternate Universe)

Tags: Original Characters, no smut, just a teaser, an intro to the world

This is an alternate universe. Some events may differ from real life.

Thanks to @twice-inamillion The Company series for making me revive this idea from the drafts. Check out their awesome work on their blog.

-------------

“What?!”

“I said, I want you to produce our new girl group.” Mrs. Kwon repeats herself. You rub your face in disbelief, hoping your CEO is joking.

“With all due respect Ma’am, I’m already a leader of a group and you put me in charge to become our group creative director. That’s quite a lot. Why not choose Eunji or Keenan for the job?” you plead your case. All your focus is for your co-ed group, Twelve Six, along with Eunji and Keenan. With being creative director for your group and sometimes groups under your label, you don't want more stuff in your hand.

“Well, Eunji is also helping out as a composer for Phoenix. And Keenan is broadening our A&R connections. We may be an up and coming label in this industry, but we are still short staffed.” Slumping back to your chair, gears in your brain are working hard to find a way out of this.

“Then why don’t you hire someone who has experience doing this kind of stuff? I know you have the money to find one. If the three of us are spread thin like this, when are we going to make music?”

Mrs. Kwon always says that the three of you were geniuses and is the reason why OTB is the rising star of companies in Kpop. Take Shamrock for example. A thirteen member boy group and the first idol group under OTB. You recommended a talented Japanese street dancer that you used to battle and Keenan found a genius kid producer online. Both of them become important members of Shamrock. As for Eunji, she trained OTB’s first GG, Phoenix in vocals. With her and her sister, they composed and produced music for the five member group, resulting in them competing in the Red Sea of girl groups right now. Also not to mention, your group Twelve Six. Your group’s music is able to breakthrough the public listeners. Decades after the last big co-ed group, finally Twelve Six changed that. Now, Korea sees Twelve Six as “Music for the people” because of your group penmanship and music move and touch many people's souls, not just in Korea but also the world.

“Because I trust you and I see potential in you to be a great producer.” there she goes again, putting huge faith in you. Ever since joining your label, Out of The Box (OTB) Studios, you have been one of her favourites. As an experience street dancer and performer, also having a brain being a portal to fantasy world says Mrs. Kwon, she has pushed you to the limits. She even goes as far as creating you a co-ed group with her youngest daughter Kwon Eunji and a Korean American rapper named Keenan Shin. The three of you were born on the same day and year, the twelfth of June, hence the name Twelve Six comes from.

With all the money in the world and full trust on you, Mrs. Kwon will do anything to help you to become one of the greatest artists in K-pop. But you doubt your ability if you are given another responsibility.

“Listen, Choi Sesang.” you sit up straight as your CEO calls you by full government, “Just please look into this file and consider it.” a brown file is presented in front of you. Reluctantly, you take it and open it. The first name on the paper almost made you jump out of your seat. You flip through the pages and surprisingly most of the names are familiar to you.

“Ma’am, there are-”

“Yes, they were idols. Some had troubles with their past companies and ended their contracts, and some I bought them out of their contracts.” bloody hell this rich woman. Her way of using money to get what she thinks is the best for the company still baffles you even after years knowing her, “They deserve a second chance and I know you’re up for the job. And rumour has it, you have your ways with girls.” she gives you a teasing look.

“Your daughter really has a nasty mouth, you know that?” Mrs. Kwon laughs at you cursing her youngest daughter.

“I don’t care if what Eunji implied was the truth or not. But I do have my own eyes.” she says after calming herself, “Your relationship with the Phoenix girls is admirable. They see you as a brotherly figure and a safe space to talk to. Those girls are strong minded and some are hard to get through, but you easily befriend the girls. That is enough for me to know you’re the right person for this project.” you look down to the file in your hand, taking in all what Mrs. Kwon says. A heavy sigh escapes your lips.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Splendid!” she claps her hand in joy, “Also, there is one thing I need to tell you.”

Here you go, the catch in all of this, “Doing this job means you have got out of your way to get the job done. I know you are a good kid and have been staying clean until now. But sorry to say son, you have to get your hands dirty with this one. It's part of the industry, the system. No matter how long you try to avoid it, your time will come.”

Saying those words with a beaming smile so easily creeps you off. Well, a CEO of a K-pop company is not exactly the most morally right person in the world. Mrs. Kwon has always been brutal when it comes to business and you are led into one of her traps. Situations like this remind you where Eunji gets her nasty personality from.

Defeated, you know there’s no way out of this. Your fate has been sealed by the devil. Already, you try to drown your mind to come to terms with this twisted system. With heavy heart, you look straight at Mrs. Kwon. You can see insanity behind her eyes.

“So… do the job by any means necessary?”

“Correct! There you go, already getting a hang of it.” it’s supposed to be a laugh of joy for Mrs. Kwon, but it feels like she’s laughing at you. Soon enough, you will be playing with people's lives just like her.

“The girls will be coming in next week. Prepare yourself, mind and body. I have a feeling you will like them.” with a smirk, she leaves the room. You groan as you throw yourself back into the chair. The dreaded day is near. By next week you will become one of those industry scumbags. You love performing and singing, but you despise the industry. Being in it long enough to know stuff. The girl that you will be working with surely also knows a thing or two.

Thinking about your doomed future only makes you mad at yourself. Feeling suffocated, you pack your stuff and go home, not before leaving a text in the group chat.

Chat Room

Three silly peas in a pot

You

@Enzy your mother is a fucking witch

Enzy

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I mean you’re not wrong

But still…

WHAT THE FUCK?!

THAT’S MY MUM YOU PRICK!

K.S.

LOL 😂

Dorms now

I need this juicy story 👹

_ _ _ _ _

Three days since you operate as the main producer for OTB’s new girl group. You’ve met with the company staff and instructors over the week to discuss the training program. These three days have been orientation and waiting for the rest of the girls to join the company. Today is the day where they all finally present and training will begin to ramp up.

You arrive at the company at eight. Not wanting any problem, you do a morning check up every day just to make sure. After doing that, you take a sip of your black coffee while looking through the girl's profile again. You seriously can not wrap your head around the names on the list. Mrs. Kwon really is a crazy businesswoman for getting these girls to become trainees again in your company.

“Damn they’re hot.” startled, you almost spilled your hot coffee onto the papers. You look back to see Keenan peeking over your shoulder. His curly dark brown hair really needs a cut. It almost pokes your eye.

“Could you not sneak up on me like that?”

“You’re the one who’s busy staring at these profiles.”

“Hey!” he takes a seat next to you and slides the file over to him. You let him be, as you need a break from reading those papers over and over again.

“Still can’t believe they are trainees here.” Keenan says.

“Me too.”

“Mrs. Kwon is one damn good negotiator.”

“You can say that again. It’s like a person playing DnD and always rolls Nat 20 on persuasion.” Keenan laughs at your cheeky joke.

“Yeah… so, which one you gonna fuck first?”

“I- what?! Bro, shut up.” you punch his arm only for him to laugh even more.

“Come on, seriously bro. There are some hot chicks right here. If I were you, I would try every single one of them.”

“But I’m not you dumbass. I’m not some guy who will fuck every girl he sees.”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck off.” Keenan's laugh now turns hysterical. He’s always been like this. Being from Brooklyn makes him more frontal than your average Korean. He’s been teasing you since both of you met. With your ability in speaking English, you bonded easily with him. You also help him get accustomed with his homeland culture. But it seems you can’t take Brooklyn out of Keenan.

You take back your file from Keenan and walk off, “Ay! Where are you going?”

“Training is almost starting! I’m needed in the dance room!” you shout back at him.

“Okay then! Tell me if you score on one of them!” you don’t look back and flip him off. You can hear Keenan laugh fading as you walk further away from him.

The dance room for trainees is in the basement. Everything related to the trainees are in the basement. Only the ones who debut are the only ones who can experience the freedom of the city view from the artist dance room upstairs. For the trainees, the dark and damp basement is their prison. Some even will never see the day of light from the dungeon. Sound of blaring music can be heard at the end of the hallway. The girls may be stretching right now.

Other than being the main producer for the group, Mrs. Kwon also personally assigned you to be one of the dance instructors. Talk about a burden. It’s not the first time you are teaching a class. During trainee days, you already helped to train the fellow members of Shamrock and Phoenix. It’s just for a few sessions because Shamrock have a capable and experienced dance line and for Phoenix they are natural performers. Not the same can be said for this group. Maybe one or two names stood out, but they are nowhere near the talent as your fellow labelmates when they first join the company. And your part is to train them to be on par to standards.

Standing before the dance room door, you take a deep breath before twisting the door handle. The sound of your arrival alerts the girls. Quickly, they line up in a line with one of them scrambling to turn off the music before joining the line.

“Good morning PD-nim.” they greet you in unison.

“Good morning. At ease.” you say that, but they are clearly tense. Fifteen girls standing in front of you. You recognize their faces with a few unfamiliar ones. Some of these girls had a respectable career as idols. They are without a group due to them being in a project group making their contract length shorter than normal or suing their way out of their contract because of how stupid their company was. Some were in a group that disbanded. Others are trainees from different companies. Now, here they are starting from zero once more.

Knowing you have to keep professionalism, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Starting today, you will have these girls' fate on strings. Toying with their dreams, giving them false hope. Just like Mrs. Kwon you thought. You open your eyes and give them a big smile.

This is when you notice Mrs. Kwon foul tricks, attacking your weakness: boobs. Most of these girls have sizeable to huge tits. You felt your cock twitch at the sight of the girls wearing tight sports bras, pushing their boobs together. One of them has a big enough bust, it outlines her baggy shirt.

“My name is Choi Sesang. For those who don’t know, I will be the main producer for this debut project as well as your dance instructor. Pleasure to finally meet you all.”

--------------------------

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Like I said on the top, this was an idea that was collecting dust in my google docs. @twice-inamillion The Company series really got me thinking about this idea again.

I already have a few names for the girls: Chaehyun, Natty, Hyeju, and Xiaoting so far, with the first three already having a rough idea for it.

Recommendations for idol names are gladly accepted with the general prompt of the story would be helpful also.

I know I said a Pokémon story is on its way but that's on hold for now. I have struggles for the smut scene of that story. Wait a little more.

See you next time 😄

#kpop smut #smut #original character #kpop au #kpop girls #hyejoo smut #chaehyun smut #xiaoting smut #natty smut

[whereismywizardhat]

Saw Glass Onion, and I cannot help but think about what the movie is trying to say.

Spoilers Ahead, you have been warned

The most obvious (and considering how November went in the year 2022) is the dismantling of the myth of the Tech Billionaire.  Miles Bron is a obvious Musk/Zuckerburg stand-in, with the former’s charisma and energy industry connections and the later’s assorted former business partners.

Miles surrounds himself with “The Disrupters” aka the shitheads.  Lionel the engineer, Duke the alt-right troll, Claire the politician, and Birdie the fashion model.  Science, Media, Politics, and Entertainment, four pillars of society each dependent on the smooth talking grifter with the pile of money for their own continued success.  Like with Knives Out, the politics of the four doesn’t particularly matter: Claire is mentioned to be a liberal politician, while Duke’s MRA talking points barely can escape his garage without being called out by his mother and Birdie mindlessly repeats slurs on social media with such regularity her assistant micromanages her phone.  Class solidarity matters more, 5% will protect the 1%.

Miles surrounds himself with these people, but he has no loyalty to them.  He powers his home with an unstable energy source that his engineer is sure is dangerous (because it’s hydrogen, the most explosive element), he has already convinced the politician to back his dangerous energy source, he assists the far right media guy in getting a new platform but does not platform him on his own network, and he intends to allow the fashionista to take the fall for their sweatshops.  

Coming out in a year where we have watched billionaires throw good money after bad in such ventures as “Worse VR Chat” and “Let’s Burn the Bird Site to the Ground”, it has never been more obvious the mediocrity of tech billionaires.  And here comes Glass Onion, which presents it’s Ersatz Zucker-musk as the most mediocre of them all: seemingly only having the talent to steal ideas from others and force others to repackage them.  A man so utterly devoid of creativity or talent that naturally everyone thinks of him as a genius.  A Cave Johnson level Moron.

The fifth guest, Andi, Mile’s former partner, represents Business but she’s also a black woman who was the true brains behind the operation, and thus was first discredited then murdered.  The Andi we meet is actually her school teacher twin sister, Helen.  Education, another pillar, and notably the only one is not beholden to Miles.  Tech Billionaires aren’t even beholden to Capitalism, but they are beholden to people educated enough to see through their snake oil.

And finally there is Benoit Blanc, our beloved detective.  He represent justice (notably, not the police), and notably while he solves the crime he cannot touch Miles.  White Privileged Billionaires never have to worry about Justice reaching them, they are insulated from it.  The only thing he can do is encourage Helen.

And Helen burns it all down.  No justice can be extracted from Billionaires, but we can burn their houses down, their own hubris practically guarantees that they will have left fuel everywhere.  After all, they are morons.

#knives out #glass onion #benoit blanc #glass onion spoilers

[andy-wm]

How to explain JK & JM and their endless coincidences?

Easy really, none of them are coincidences.

I'll admit that I'm not the quickest at reacting to what's going on around me. My poor ND brain takes a while to absorb it all and put the pieces together, but then I can't stop thinking and thinking and thinking about all those puzzle pieces.

Gotta get those thoughts out of my head to make room for new ones LOL... so here they are.

Everything is not a coincidence 🎶

I hear Jimin singing this in my head.

No, of course its not.

We've seen how intricately they plan their cocepts, outfits, stages and releases. We saw it in detail with the Artist Made Collection and the Photo Folios. The processes they went through were thorough and thoughtful. They considered everything.

For Jimin and Jungkook, aligning their message is nothing new. For years they've been coming out in matching clothes, jewelery, and accessories - including the cute and silly matching Pororo bandaids at the puma fansign in 2016 when neither of them had an injury (JK's idea, according to JM).

Sometimes the matching outfits are identical...

Other times the alignment is more subtle....

But it's so frequent, we barely comment these days.

When they aren't matching, they're swapping. Their shared wardrobe is legendary - especially for someone who doesn't like other people wearing his clothes (JK) and someone who has assured us they have different clothes (JM).

But I digress....

The gist is, we know they pay attention to the mesage they send with their clothes and styling.

AND...

They know WE we pay attention too - they know we notice it all. Every.Single.Thing.They.Do.

AND...

They tell us they know all the ARMY jokes and memes. They do and say things that correspond too closely to ARMY's conversations on socials to be a coincidence.

Everything is not a coincidence 🎶

So with the visual themes of their solo releases being so astonishingly similar, anyone with eyes in their head (and a moderately functional brain and heart) can't think it's accidental. And JK and JM can't possibly think they're being subtle either.

And I honestly don't think they're trying to be subtle. Not at all.

I think they are demonstrating very clearly that even when they're apart, they're together. They're always aligned*.

They share ideas, they work together (they certainly don't work in secret) and they agree on what they, together are choosing to show.

Everything is not a cooincidence 🎶

We know they've shared ideas for this because at no point has either of them shown suprise at seeing the other wearing a similar outfit, holding a similar pose, or adopting similar aesthetics. They're hyping each other's music and promo work, and sharing their pride and enjoyment with us. (JM posting on insta to celebrate JK's #1 on the hottest 100 was NOT for JKs benefiit. It was for ours 💜)

It's not a matter of who did it first or who copied...all of this they created together.

They're showing us their individual strengths and telling their own stories, but using an aesthetic framework they've planned together. The visuals overlap is enough to to unmistakablly link their narratives together without restricting their self expression.

It's genius really.

They're living their 'I am you, you are me' dream right now, but in such a way that they are also without a doubt independent individuals as well.

Personally I love this. I love them.

I love that they can contribute to one another's creative processes, each produce something wholly unique to themself, and still have visually connected stories.

One day this will become their shared history. With a brief glance, anyone who looks will be able to see how much they supported and cooperated with each other, and that they chose to reflect their personal relationship in these works.

This would be a very conscious decision - to be visibly connected, not just for the few months their solo work is on the charts but for as long as the record of BTS's existance remains.

And that will be a long, long time I am sure 💜

*They're always aligned, i believ, with regards to their goals. For their work but also in terms of their relationship.

I think they trust one another implicitly, both professionally and personally. I think they're honest but kind, and they have each others backs. They are each other's highest priority and I hope it will always be this way for them 💜

#park jimin #jikook #kookmin #jeon jungguk #국민 #jungkook seven #true love #relationships #jimin face #shared aesthetic

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 24/34 - waiting room

[Read on AO3]

Today, like most days in the past week, has been absurdly unproductive, and it’s barely eleven in the morning. They’d been up late the night before thanks to an impromptu baby shower thrown by the Lone Gunmen, with Frohike at the helm, and spent the first hour of their day in a meeting with the two new agents they’d selected to take over the X-Files, who it turns out, are old friends. It's like it was meant to be.

Other than that, they’ve just been attempting to revive themselves with caffeine, to varying degrees of success.

The ‘baby shower’ from the night before is a term that should be applied loosely, in this case. Mostly, the three stooges just crashed the apartment at half past nine bearing a puzzling array of gifts and some pungent takeout food that thankfully tasted better than it smelled, but Scully appreciated the thought, nonetheless. She could tell that Mulder had no hand in it, given how surprised he looked when they came knocking on their door. It certainly wasn’t what she’d always envisioned when she thought of her hypothetical future baby shower, but she wouldn’t have expected or wanted anything less in this life she’s made for herself.

How could she have known seven years ago that her new partner’s weird friends would one day be some of her closest friends, too?

Leaned back in his desk chair, Mulder tosses another pencil into the ceiling, shrugging when Scully shoots him an unimpressed look. It’s not like there’s a security deposit on this office that they need to get back. The new agents can just get the ceiling tiles replaced, if it bothers them that much. Maybe they’ll come to realize the genius of it as a form of decoration and mental stimulation. 

Or maybe not, if the look on Scully’s face is anything to go by.

Both of them startle at the shrill tone sounding from Scully’s cell phone, causing Mulder to nearly poke himself in the eye with the next pencil he was planning to use as ammunition.

Scully feels her stomach drop to the floor. Nobody ever calls her cell during work hours…

“Hello?” she breathes into the phone.

“Miss Scully?”

“Yes?”

“This is Wanda with the Connect and Care Adoption Agency.”

Scully’s body goes numb, her hand clutching her mobile device tight so as not to drop it. “Hi, Wanda. How are you?” she says in a shaky voice that she works hard to control. This could either be good news or bad, and she can’t tell which. Mulder watches her with concern but says nothing, merely offering his silent support.

“Well, it’s always a good day when I’ve got good news to share!” Wanda says. “You’ve got a healthy baby girl, 6 pounds, 4 ounces. Born at 10:13 this morning.”

Now, Scully really almost drops the phone.

“She’s here?” she asks, her eyes flicking up to meet Mulder’s, conveying what words, at the moment, cannot.

“Yes ma’am, she is. And she is just beautiful.” Scully draws in a shuddering breath, feeling her heart race furiously in her chest. “Now, there’s a few things to finalize here on our end, but if you’re able to get here in the next hour or so, we’ll get you checked into a room and then you can meet your baby.”

“Mulder,” Scully breathes, reaching out for his hand across the desk. He holds her hand tight, silently promising not to let go. “Um, we’re on our way,” she speaks into the phone, managing to thank Wanda and end the call before bursting into tears. Mulder leaps from his chair and circles the desk, kneeling in front of her and pulling her into his arms without a second thought. She buries her face in his shoulder, squeezing tight.

“She’s here,” are the only words her brain is able to signal to her mouth.

“She’s here,” Mulder agrees, choking back emotion. His hand finds the base of her neck, tangling in the roots of her hair. “Let’s go see her.”

-.-.-

Mulder’s hands shake as he locks up the basement office for what will probably be his last time as the agent in charge of the X-Files. He smiles shyly up at Scully. She looks more nervous than he’s ever seen her before, and they’ve been in some pretty intense situations together, so that’s saying something.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the elevator. She offers a small smile and follows him, sliding her hand into his as they begin the trek down the hallway.

The pace at which they walk through the corridors on their way out of the building turns a few heads. They breeze past other agents without a second glance, missing the way they look at them oddly.

Spookies are up to something again. What’s new?

They’re almost to the entrance when Skinner nearly walks right into them, carrying a batch of manila folders in his hand.

“Oh, hey, I was just on my way down to you,” he says. “There are some files I want you to look over, just some budget stuff—”

“Not now, Skinman,” Mulder says, cutting him off. “Better places to be.”

“Where could you possibly be going at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday?” he asks, looking at them in confusion. Then, his eyes widening, “Oh.”

“The agency called,” Mulder says, a beaming smile spreading across his face. He places a hand on Scully’s shoulder, glancing down at her for a moment before looking back at their boss. “We’re on our way to the hospital right now.”

Skinner sputters, a smile of his own pulling at his lips. “That’s– that’s fantastic news, agents! Forget anything I said about budget documents. It would be more effective to just put them right into the shredder anyway. Besides,” he smiles, reaching a hand out for a handshake, which Mulder reciprocates, “you’ve got much more important things to worry about.” He gives Scully a hug and pulls back, beaming at them. “Well, get out of here! Don’t worry about family leave, I’ll take care of it.”

Mulder nods, grateful for the man’s support in all of this. They’d made the right decision to tell him, all those months ago.

“Oh, and agents—” he adds.

They pause, turning back to face their boss.

“Congratulations.” 

 -.-.-

It’s a delicate balance between driving as fast as he can to get to the hospital, and not wanting to get in a car wreck on the way over. The radio stays off for the duration of the trip to Annapolis. There’s enough going on in their heads that the additional noise is neither welcome nor necessary.

To think: they’d woken up that morning like it was any other day, not knowing that this was the day their lives would be forever changed. They’d danced around each other in the kitchen, grabbing a slice of toast or a bagel for the road, coffee to-go, their typical routine.

Mulder had started the day as little more than a glorified bachelor (notwithstanding the wife he technically has, which makes classifying his relationship status a little iffy), but now he’s a father. That’s what he is, right? Even if he hasn’t met the kid yet, she’s going to be his. His and Scully’s. They just have to fill out a little paperwork, and… voilà! He loves her fiercely already.

“You have the bag, right?” Scully asks, her fingers nervously picking at her cuticles.

“In the back seat,” he answers. It’s in the back seat where it has been for the last two weeks, holding everything they might need for when this call finally came, as she well knows.

“Are you freaking out?”

He chuckles, chancing a quick glance in her direction. “A little bit. You?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nods.

Aw, Scully.

He wants to reassure her that they can handle this, but he’s pretty sure that nothing he says will help until they’re actually holding their baby in their arms. Some things you just can’t be prepared for. You can only face it head on when the time comes.

They follow the signs to the hospital parking lot, and before they know it, they’re standing in front of the automatic doors leading into the building.

This is it. Their time as partners, just the two of them, is over. They’ll enter this building as Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI, and the next time they leave it, they’ll be someone’s mom and dad. A family of three.

Now Mulder knows how Neil Armstrong felt jumping out of that lunar lander.

One giant leap for spooky-kind.

“Ready?” he asks, gazing down at his best friend, his better half. The only person crazy enough to do this with him.

She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Wait—”

His brows furrow, but before he can ask her what they're waiting for, she reaches up to his collar and extracts the chain that holds his ring. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile as he realizes what she's doing, and he reaches out to do the same, pulling the necklace carefully over her head.

She doesn't say a word as she undoes the clasp and removes the simple wedding band. She merely holds out her hand for his, and just like she had done that day at the courthouse, she slides the ring onto his finger.

He looks down at the diamond ring he'd bought for her, holding it in the palm of his hand. It's time for it to take its rightful place, not hidden away any longer. His eyes meet hers, and onto her finger it goes.

Then, with a guiding hand placed on her lower back, Mulder steps forward, hiking the hospital bag up over his shoulder.

They’ve been through so much together, and these rings prove it. They’ll take this final, monumental step together too.

They’re greeted at the front desk by a nice looking nurse, who makes quick work of checking them in. Another worker appears moments later to collect them from the waiting room, and leads them to an elevator that will take them up to the maternity ward. As the doors close, Mulder slips his hand into Scully’s wordlessly, offering his silent support.

Once they arrive at the correct floor, they’re shown to a private room, where they’re given wristbands to wear with “Baby Girl Mulder” written on them along with a corresponding ID number. It’s a family room, complete with a bed, sofa, chair, and large window overlooking the parking lot. This is where they’ll be staying for the next couple of days. He’s stayed in worse hospital rooms, so he can’t complain. This is luxury, by comparison.

The nurse tells them to wait there, and Mulder follows Scully to the couch, taking a seat despite the restlessness he feels right down to his bones. He’d much rather pace the room like a caged animal, but he knows that will only make Scully more anxious. He settles for cataloging everything the room has to offer while they wait. His eyes land on the empty plastic bassinet in the corner lying in wait for their baby to soon occupy it.

It’s all becoming real.

A gentle knock on the door signals someone’s presence, and a cheery middle-aged woman enters, smiling broadly at the two of them.

“Are you Fox Mulder and Dana Scully?” she asks, reading off a clipboard.

They stand to their feet. “That’s us,” Mulder says, finding his voice first.

The woman nods. “I wanted to formally introduce myself, I’m Wanda, the Director at Connect and Care. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

“Of course. Hi,” Scully says, shaking the woman’s hand in greeting.

Wanda removes her glasses, letting the cat-eye shaped frames hang around her neck from a beaded chain. “Brenda, your caseworker, will be here in a few minutes with your baby,” she says, “I just thought I’d check on you first. How are you feeling?”

Scully looks up at him for a moment before answering, a whole conversation passing between them in that short time that only they can understand.

“A little nervous,” she admits, answering for the both of them. “I, um– I thought we’d get a call when she was on her way.”

That brings out a hearty chuckle from Wanda. “We usually try to, but it seems your little girl was anxious to get here! Can’t say I blame her, it’s an exciting day!”

“So, everything went fine, then?” Mulder asks. He’d read enough pregnancy and delivery books between the IVF days and now to have nightmares about some of the worst possible complications.

“Oh yes,” Wanda assures him. “The nurses said it was one of the fastest deliveries they’ve seen this year!”

Mulder feels that last little ball of worry untangle itself in his stomach. Relief passes over him. She’s here. She’s here, and she’s fine.

Only a little longer.

-.-.-

Wanda looks at her watch, then checks her pager.

“Looks like it’s time,” she says, smiling over at them. “Alright, you two, you just wait right there and Brenda will be right in with your baby in just a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Scully says, hoping her voice isn’t as shaky as it feels.

Mulder squeezes her shoulder, the arm he has wrapped around her being the only sign that he feels as nervous as she does. His face is carefully blank, and though he doesn’t outright avoid eye contact, she can tell he’s barely able to focus on their physical surroundings. No, it seems he’s caught up in a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions just as she is. She wonders if he has a matching knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, too.

“This feels unreal,” she whispers, letting out a breathy laugh as he leads her back over to the couch. Once they’re seated, her hand comes to rest on his knee. It grounds her, makes her feel just a little less insane for doing this.

“I know, I can’t believe they’re gonna let us walk out of here with a baby,” he responds.

Opening her mind to extreme possibilities, indeed.

She chuckles and closes her eyes, leaning against him. His hand finds its way to hers, wordlessly intertwining their fingers in a gesture of comfort almost as old as their partnership itself.

“You got the car seat set up, didn’t you?” she asks.

“Car seat, diaper bag, bassinet—everything’s ready, Scully, we got this.”

They’re interrupted by the door squeaking open, and suddenly, Scully’s perception narrows to nothing but Mulder, their case worker, and the bundle of blankets the woman carries in her arms. Everything else fades away.

The pressure on his knee increases as Scully pushes herself to standing, unsure of what to do with her arms. She squeezes his hand once before letting go, and he’s on his feet half a second later, his body practically vibrating with energy at the complete and total awareness of how life-changing this moment is.

Nothing will ever be the same.

“Here she is!” Brenda cheerfully announces as she makes her way across the room, followed by Wanda. 

Scully’s heartbeat quickens as she comes nearer. She can feel her throat closing with tears, and she covers her mouth to stifle a sob. Mulder’s hand presses reassuringly on her back near her shoulder blade, while the other grips her bicep, all but holding her in an upright position.

“Here you go, mama,” Brenda says, and Scully watches in awe as the most perfect, precious baby is placed into her waiting arms. The weight of her is so little, but so right. That phantom feeling she once felt when looking at other women with their babies is finally alleviated. That emptiness, finally filled. 

Finally, finally, she has a baby of her own, one who will one day look up at her and call her “mom.” One who she’ll read bedtime stories to, comfort on stormy nights when the thunder rattles the house, kiss when she falls down and hurts her knee.

Her heart shatters into a million pieces and rebuilds itself all in the measure of a breath.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” Scully gasps, unable to stifle the sob that escapes her. She feels Mulder’s hands rubbing in comforting strokes, holding her together.

She turns her head to look up at him. His cheeks are wet with tears of his own, but the smile—she’s never seen one quite like it on his face before. So free and full of gratitude. Maybe the closest she ever saw was when she told him her cancer was in remission. Before today, she might have called that the happiest day of her life. But, now…

She closes her eyes and breathes in the moment, her head dipping forward so it rests against Mulder’s chin. He pulls her tighter against him and presses a kiss to her forehead, then another.

No question about it. This is the happiest she has ever been.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

[jpeg-dot-jpeg]

😈

5 and... jaytimkon??? (For the drabble prompts)

Jpeg fr the things I would do for a jaytimkon from you akfjslajdlaja

-@bi-bats

I haven't drabbled much into jaytimkon territory, but i'll do it for you, beloved <];)

"So how long have you two been married?"

It comes out of Jason's mouth as a joke. Or, at least, he means it as a joke. He expects a scoff or an eyeroll or maybe a besotted smile. He isn't quite sure what to do with the startled look Kon gives him.

"What?" the guy asks, stupidly thick lashes fluttering in abashment. His cheeks go pink and Jason gets the sense he's resisting the urge to fan his face like a scandalized genteel woman.

Jason nods his head towards the door that Tim had just left through after walking in, saying, "Do you-" and promptly getting handed exactly what he needed from Kon without having to specify what it was. It isn't the first time it's happened since the two of them have set up shop at the little basement coffee station - separate, of course, from Tim's regular coffee station up in his living area - waiting for Tim to work his genius.

It's kind of magical the way they operate on the same wavelength - finishing each other's sentences, knowing what the other needs, vollying inside jokes back and forth too fast for Jason to even pretend to keep up. It makes some kind of longing crawl up in his throat. So he teases instead of saying Can I get in on that? Instead of saying Stop doing that before I start uncontrollably sobbing. Instead of saying Who do I have to kill to get me a bitch like that?

Kon stutters out, "We're not- that's- why would you-"

"Oh my god, breathe," Jason orders, taking pity on him. "I was messing with you. I just meant that you two practically share a brain. It's kinda freaky. But also...kinda cool."

Kon looked down and shrugged. "Just known each other a long time. Lotta missions, lotta near-death experiences. Watching Santa get blown up together probably had something to do with it."

"You- what?"

"It's whatever." Kon waves a dismissive hand through the air. "We're close, but - I dunno. You bats have something else entirely going on. I'm sure you understand him better than I do."

"Oh, come on," he can't help but protest. "Just 'cause we're both bats doesn't mean we have some kinda psychic connection. If we could communicate the way the two of you do, we'd all beat each other up a lot less."

"No, seriously," Kon insists, face open and imploring in a way that makes Jason want to cover him with a blanket so no one else can catch him like that. "Sometimes I think he's the alien, but then I hear how he talks about you, the way all of you guys work together, and it's- it's a little cult-y, but it's also really cool? Like you guys have a secret language. Plus, it doesn't hurt that he's been obsessed with you for, like, ever, so there's kind of that hero worship thing going on, and you're actually smart enough to keep up with the stuff he talks about and-"

There's something in Kon's voice that tickles the back of his brain, something between He talks about me? and 'Batclan Cult Allegations.' It sounds stretched thin and bittersweet and tense. The pieces fall together faster than he can relegate them.

"Wait a minute," he interupts. "Are you jealous? Of me?"

The idea is bizarre, absurd, unthinkable. It makes a little bird flutter around in his stomach, but he isn't sure whether that has more to do with the lovely, mysterious creature in the next room over or the goregous, good-natured creature in front of him.

Kon shrugs again, refusing to meet Jason's gaze. "Who wouldn't be?"

A warmth surges in his gut, rushing to his palms in a way that makes him want to reach out and share the heat. He puts several years of laborious therapy to use and decides to take a chance.

"And here I was, all green with envy over watching the two of you together."

And once those ethereal blue eyes lock onto his, Jason can't look away.

"Maybe if we put our heads together," he continues, hoping Kon can hear all the things he isn't saying as well, "We can parse out what the hell Tim is talking about all the time, 'cause I don't have a fuckin' clue."

The laughter that earns him sounds like bells. And when Tim walks in and asks, "What's so funny?" the two of them share a knowing look, something just between them.

#JayTimKon #TimKon #JayTim #JayKon #ask #ask answered #ask game #ficlet #Bi-bats my beloved

[besaya-glantaya]

While the previous exorcism was fairly sucessful, new brain gremlins appear with repeated rewatches. So, here's another incomplete list of my rambling thoughts and favourite moments from the Red White and Royal Blue movie:

1. Breaking doors down to get a wedding cake through - actually a thing that happened. Well, almost. Prince William and Kate Middleton's gigantic 8-tier wedding cake was so large a palace door had to be removed to allow it through. Apparently the Queen was "unimpressed".

2. Henry snubbing Alex in the reception line at the wedding is hilarious. Way to ensure Alex doesn't fixate on you for the whole party, Henry. A+ job.

3. Alex drunkly navigating the wedding reception, swiping drinks, petting rich people and hiding foul smelling canapés behind furniture. Adorably comedic.

4. HeNnrrYyy!

5. Aww. I wanna see pictures of Jonathan the Shih Tzu too.

6. Shaan's scathingly dry wit is everything - I can see why he's such a great match for Zahra.

7. "No-one is more mystified than I" is another phrase I am stealing for people who exist purely to vex me.

8. Shaan shoving Alex bodily through the low hanging branches of a chestnut tree to stand beside Henry for a photo op. That had to be at least partially improvised on location.

9. Dogs in jumpers. This must be some British thing that I have simply failed to notice. Is this a thing Americans associate with the UK?

10. The ridiculously small child's costume that Alex is wearing for the puppet show in the hospital.

11. Alex saying "WRONG!"

12. Henry, on the phone, opening with "Good God, man, what have you done?" Honestly, is there any other response when your crush sends you a picture of a caged turkey, in their bedroom, in the small hours of the morning?

13. Nora strutting into the NYE party in that head turning, jaw dropping, red outfit. Stunning.

14. Henry's face after Alex tells him he's going to do "very bad things to him". Every single fantasy he's ever had about him and Alex is flashing rapid-fire through his brain and he just... overloads a lil' bit. Error code 54 [NETWORK_BUSY].

15. The emotional connection between Alex and Henry when they are making love in Paris. The eye contact, the unspoken communication. Ugh. Hats off to all involved - especially Robbie Taylor, the movie's intimacy coordinator - for creating this scene.

16. Alex, talking about being someone his father never had: "You can't know what that means." Henry responding with a heartfelt "I'm learning". Just... yes. All the yes.

17. In the mood for love might be one of the swooniest movies of all time, but it's heartbreakingly sad. It's a doomed romance - two people who are irrevocably in love but can't be together, trapped as they are by the pressures of societal expectations and their own psychological barriers. That this is a version of romance that Henry holds dear is telling and painful to think about.

18. Alex's bloodshot eyes when he's laying on his bed with Nora, hugging that cushion for dear life, pining hard for Henry. Did they do that scene after another intense emotional one? Were there lots of other teary takes of that same scene? Did they rub onions in Taylor's eyes? I need to know.

19. I often think that the core of who we are as teenagers - our hopes, our desires, the things we cherish - are the beings we settle back into as older adults after we're done trying to fit in or live up to other people's expectations. One of Alex's greatest gifts is helping Henry to reach out and reclaim those seemingly distant hopes and dreams. To dance with the person he loves, in a place of beauty that brings him peace.

20. I love the Perfume Genius cover of "Can't help falling in love". It hits you squarely in the feels.

21. God, the casting of this movie was a stroke of genius. Taylor and Nicholas truly become Alex and Henry on screen.

22. On the private air-field: Henry's little overwhelmed smile when Alex squeezes him in the tightest hug and tells him, "I love you, I'll be as patient as you need."

23. Immediately after 22, Alex leaning in for a kiss goodbye but pulling back quickly as he reads Henry's discomfort. Alex might not always understand Henry's reasons but (if he's paying attention), he's so very good at reading Henry's needs and responding to them.

24. In the aftermath of the email leak, Alex has been "hanging in there" - he's had people supporting him, with agency over how to respond. But Henry is understandably not OK - he's been put back in his box, and the Firm has taken over in all matters. There's one scene where you can see Henry shrinking, literally making himself take up less space at the table.  Poor baby.

25. Zahra to the rescue. Truly the MVP.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #nicholas galitzine #prince henry rwrb #rwrb film #alex claremont diaz #rwrb thoughts #first prince #henry fox #myrwrbthoughts

[agent-cupcake]

cry foul

I said I needed a new mouse and @dogveins came through, thank you! They had a very fun prompt and it got away from me a bit.

Pairing: Sylvain Jose Gautier x f!Reader

Synopsis: Your mother recently married Margrave Gautier, dragging you to Gautier territory to live with your new family. Sylvain is much happier about the arrangement than you.

Warnings: explicit smut, noncon, scumbag Sylvain, mind games, nonconsensual sibling pseudo incest

Tags: shy/inexperienced reader, teasing, first time

Word Count: 20.9k

Notes: I would like to credit a local genius who fed me the line, "The way I see it, our parents had a marriage of convenience, so our being siblings is also a matter of convenience." Although I couldn't find a way to use it, it still should be known.

i.

there’s a bad moon rising

Lurking deep within your brain, there existed a memory-mangled quote—something about how bust measurements and makeup did not a woman make, it was the acceptance of harsh realities and knowledge of the rules that governed the adult world which aged a girl out of her childish naivety. The words, found in some etiquette guidebook you read years ago, resurfaced from the depths after your mother sat you down to tell you of her plans.

Harsh reality, put into purely practical, factual terms, was that your mother’s second wedding amounted to little more than a legal document. Its lack of sentimentality and pomp was due in no small part to the lingering scandal that enshrouded the whole ordeal, but also because the widows had no need for any flashy celebration of their loveless union. It was, as your mother explained with cutting efficiency in the same practical, factual terms, a business deal. Her inheritance and trade connections for the safety and prestige of a noble title. Money for power. So, on the seventeenth day of Great Tree Moon, Margrave Matthias Raoul Gautier—twice widowed—married your mother under the watchful eye of the goddess and the binding shackles of law. You wore periwinkle and held very tightly to your bouquet of white lilies, watching a man you had met only a single time before the ceremony become your stepfather. 

Margrave Gautier’s son—the second, the heir, the one who hadn’t been disinherited and cast away as a blight on the family’s name—made no such effort. He didn’t even show up. Nobody mentioned his absence. That was one of the rules that governed the adult world, one of the confusingly paradoxical games of pretend they all participated in. Do not point out unsavory truths, ignore harsh realities and then ignore ignorance itself. 

Before the ink of their signatures could have a chance to dry, preparations were completed to make the trip north. Quickly, as the relatively mild weather could turn at any moment. With all due haste, an antique set of cloth wrapped silver candlesticks, two artisan-carved mahogany side tables, no less than three trunks of fine linens, a collection of leatherbound original books penned by a famed philosopher and scholar you couldn’t name, an ivory keyed piano, and one bleary eyed daughter were all packed up to be transported to Castle Gautier where they would be kept for the foreseeable future. 

“We’ll come back to visit, right?” you asked your mother as the carriage trundled past the border of Rowe territory, having grown bored drawing shapes on the breath-fogged glass window over the wooded scenery. 

“It’s a long journey to make just for a visit,” she said, looking up from the document she was studying intently. 

“But maybe for special occasions?” you asked. “The Goddess’ Ball is coming up.” You didn’t mention that you had promised your friends in advance that you would attend with them, going as a group rather than endure the embarrassment of searching for a gentleman suitor. That was before harsh reality reared its head. 

“I am not entirely sure Count Rowe will host us,” your mother told you bluntly. “He and Matthias aren’t on the best of terms.” 

You slumped down in your seat, sighing. Politics, then. Before the past month, you hadn’t been very aware of Faerghus’s political situation, let alone how fractured it was. The conflict between various lords had something to do with what happened after the Tragedy of Duscur that took the life of King Lambert, although you knew very little beyond that. While your mother’s passion lay firmly in the world of political intrigue, you had very little interest in something so dismal and divisive. 

“You will make new friends,” she told you, a gentle note in her voice. “There will be balls and feasts in the north as well. And you’ll have your stepbrother Sylvain. He’s only a year your senior and Matthias tells me he greatly enjoys art and music. I’m sure you’ll find much to talk about.” 

The mention of your absentee stepbrother who you knew, so far, only through reputation didn’t do much to ease your concerns. There were hundreds of rumors about Sylvain and the way he behaved around women, although you knew better than to bring up unsubstantiated hearsay with your matter-of-fact mother. And maybe it really was just lies, you were well aware that people weren’t above lying. Dishonesty was as much a rule of polite society as proper footwear.

“It will be difficult to adjust, I know,” she said when you didn’t respond, caught up in your own distracted thoughts. “We will be judged harshly, and there will be many people who will reject us for nothing more than from where we came. All we can do is show them that the grace and steadfast dignity of a lady is not a product of lineage. Do you understand?” 

“I do,” you said with another heavy sigh, that half-remembered quote spinning mercilessly in your head. Harsh realities, and the rules of adults. Same games, new rules. 

With the matter settled, your mother returned to her reading and you returned to the window, trying not to think about the new anxieties she had introduced but unable to think of anything else. 

ii.

through thick and thin

Traveling to Gautier territory with a decently sized caravan took nearly an entire fortnight, slowed by a patch of particularly bad roads across the Itha Plains. You got a breath of fear when one of the hulking monsters that prowled the area was spotted, and then a jump of panic when a rippling murmur about bandit activity spread throughout the camp. But nothing came of either, and your journey continued. 

Spring’s slow going snowmelt was nearly as bad as the wintry storms themselves. Ground that had spent the long season frozen began to thaw out into a nasty brownish slush, softening enough for wheels to form dangerous ruts along the road and splattering mud onto your boots. As the new year continued, the days had gotten longer, but with the sun hiding behind the omnipresent angry smear of gray blanketing the skies, it was impossible to enjoy them. People claimed that it was better near the Sreng border because the climate was drier. You doubted it could be too much worse.

Arrival didn’t help, as evidence that you now lived in a fortress surrounded you, completely unlike the city you called home for most of your life. Fortifications surrounded all sides, and military guards were ready for any movement from Sreng forces. Even if it weren’t so cold, the place had a frigid, unapproachable air. The intimidating stonework was very clear in its messaging. You did not belong here.  

From the minute you first arrived in Gautier territory, cold became a permanent fact of life. 

iii.

baa, baa, black sheep

Sleeping here was difficult, howling wind rattled windows and sang frightening songs in the night. Morose, chilled, and tired, you stared with glazed eyes at the unappetizing porridge meant to be your breakfast as it got even colder. The only reason you had yet to get up was a lack of motivation. What else would you be doing? You had asked your mother if she would spend the day with you, but she was busy. Unlike you, she thrived in this environment. While she had always had the inherent power of money and strong mercantile contracts, she had never had the intrinsic political power of a lord. The graceful response would be to feel content to see her taking to the new situation, glad that it gave her a platform to get along with her new husband in an otherwise loveless marriage. 

Mostly you just felt the tragic pulse of self pity. And cold.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or has the goddess finally answered my prayers?” someone asked, surprising you. Looking up, you locked eyes with a man you didn’t recognize. He stood in the doorway with an attractive smile, his red hair a mess and cheeks and nose blushed pink from being outside in the cold, slightly clouded with the steam rising from the bowl he held. “If I had known I had an angel here to greet me, I wouldn’t have kept you waiting so long.”   

The line, cheesy as it was, brought an immediate flush to your face, your brain scrambling as it tried to make sense of what was happening. You looked around the empty dining room, sure that you would see the other girl he was talking to. But there was none. 

“I’m not…” you stammered out, lost as to how to respond. It was flirtatious, wasn’t it? You couldn’t think of how else you would interpret what he said, although the idea of being flirted with was equally as incomprehensible. Worse, the red hair was a dead giveaway for the fact that you were finally face to face with the missing Gautier heir, Sylvain. Your stepbrother. “I think you’re, um, mis-mistaking me for someone else.”

“That’s impossible,” he said, undeterred by your awkward response. “You’re unmistakably beautiful… and unmistakably divine.” He stepped out of the doorway to get closer, allowing you to see him more clearly. If it really was Sylvain, he looked nothing like his father other than the red hair and brown eyes. He was too, for want of a better word, pretty. “What do you think, can you spare some time for a sinner like me?” he asked, taking the seat beside you. “We can talk about love—the goddess’ and otherwise.” 

“I, um, don’t know much about that,” you muttered, buying time by eating a spoonful of the porridge. If it tasted bad while it was hot, it was worse while cold, but it was better than addressing the man sitting next to you.  

“There’s no need to be so shy. I don’t bite,” he said warmly. “Well, unless you want me to. Some girls really like that sort of thing.” That made you choke, glad you had already swallowed the mouthful of gooey sludge pretending to be food as your cheeks blazed and you stared hard at the neatly smoothed tablecloth. He laughed. “Well, well, maybe you’re not as angelic as you look.”

“N-no, that’s not…” You shook your head, desperate to shut down this line of conversation. 

“Hey, no judgment here,” he told you, raising his hands placatingly. 

“You’re Sylvain, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, unable to look at him as hot embarrassment raged within you. In your periphery, you could see his sparkling smile. 

“Yep. And you’re the daughter of my father’s new wife,” Sylvain said, no question in his voice. “Which makes you my new little sister.” 

You peeked up at him, shocked and unsettled by the happiness in his voice when he said that. “You-you knew?” 

He shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly difficult to deduce. You’re a lot prettier than I thought you’d be though,” Sylvain said. He gave you another once over, some of that smug amusement returning to dance in his eyes. “I was kind of nervous, to be honest. Miklan and I never got along very well, I wasn’t looking forward to this. But I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve got a sensitive, kind heart. I’m the same way, really. I think we might just be kindred spirits.”  

“I. um, don’t really…”

Undeterred by your awkward bumbling, Sylvain picked up from where your sentence dropped. “You’re new to this area, right? I can’t imagine how tough that must be for you. I’d be more than happy to show you around. Maybe we could go for a horseback ride when the weather clears up. I know a few private spots around here where we could really get to know each other better.”

“You don’t have to,” you said awkwardly. 

“No, I want to. Besides, your mother did ask me to keep a close eye on you, make sure you settle in well. I guess that’s kinda a part of the big brother gig.” He grinned. “I think I could get used to that. It’s an honor to have such a cute little sister.” 

A sick lump formed in your throat at the way he twisted your supposed familial ties with that overly friendly tone of voice. You couldn’t tell if he meant anything by it, you didn’t want to believe that he did, but the entire interaction had been so horrifically uncomfortable you didn’t know. 

“I’m not…” Goddess, you couldn’t even say it, choking on your embarrassment. “It’s not like you-you’re actually my… my brother.” 

“Yeah, just legally and technically,” he said dryly.

“Yea—yeah,” you agreed. Just legally and technically. 

Sylvain laughed. Oh. He had been making fun of you. 

Picking up your half empty bowl, you stood up. The chair’s legs complained noisily. “I’m, um, I’m done,” you announced. “So, I’m… going.” 

“But I just got here,” Sylvain said, frowning. “Won’t you stay a little longer? The joy of your company is the only thing that’ll make this edible. Besides, I’d love to get to know my baby sister.”

The term of endearment nearly caused you to drop the bowl, your cheeks hot enough to sizzle. “I-I don’t…” 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed how lonely things get around here, it’s downright depressing sometimes,” Sylvain pushed. “And we’re going to be living together from now on, don’t you want to know a little more about me? Think of it as sibling bonding.” 

Your shoulders wilted. An urgent voice in your head demanded you leave, but you also felt guilty. Maybe you were being too squirrely, especially when he hadn’t actually done anything. Besides, he was the only person in the past week who seemed actually interested in spending time with you, and you couldn’t deny that it was at least a little flattering. 

“Alright,” you mumbled, sitting down. “Just for a bit.” 

Sylvain smiled, and it was sharp. Like he’d won a game you had no idea you were playing. 

iv.

curiosity killed the cat

Traveling to the nearest town took, in fair weather, a half hour on horseback. Longer if you took a coach, and even longer in poor weather. Despite the time it took to get there, you very quickly determined that you liked the town near Castle Gautier. The weather becoming less severe meant that merchants were finally able to make the journey north, so the market was lively enough. It was not nearly as festival-like as the markets you had frequented in the past, but you took what you could get. 

Almost immediately, Sylvain left with a comment about having an important matter to tend to, promising to come find you when he was done and that you should stay in the market area. He’d been told to stay close to you, but considering how awkward you felt around him still, you were more than happy to allow him to do whatever he wanted. 

Feeling a measure of excitement, you fluttered around different shops, searching out clothes that could better withstand the abrasive northern air. It came as a shock to realize that you already had a reputation. Throughout your life, you had been treated well because you had money, but now you had status, and that made your custom infinitely more valuable. Given your mother’s trade, you could hold your own while haggling prices, but the shop owners barely tried to overcharge. You came away with a handsome new green cloak made of thick wool with fur trim, new lace up boots big enough to fit extra insulation, and several thick woolen socks. A good haul, all things considered. 

But then you were left with a problem. With your business done and all the shops in the main market explored, you had nothing to do other than wait for Sylvain to return. Since the sky was the same murky steely color it had been since the sun rose, you couldn’t tell exactly, but you were sure it was getting into the late afternoon. Your toes were ice, and you wanted to be home in time to dine with your mother. 

And still, no Sylvain. 

With no small amount of clear distaste, one of the shopkeepers gave you a tip as to his usual haunts. A bar, restaurant, a gated area that was prepared for planting at the first sign of true spring weather. At first, it was fun to explore the new sights, but the longer you wandered, the harder it became not to notice the rampant poverty. Impoverishment looked different in the north than it did in Rowe territory. Cold, hungry. Most of northern Faerghus’ money followed the trades of military and mining, harsh professions in harsh conditions that created harsh people, readily leaving behind those with dust blackened lungs or crippled limbs. More so than any of your mother’s explanations, it made you understand why Margrave Gautier would opt for a wealthy wife over one with pedigree.  

With no luck at the first few places you looked for him, you were directed to an establishment which had no name, just a depiction of a four leaf clover for a sign. It was a bit unfriendly looking, if you were honest, but you were shivering from the cold and more than a little anxious to find Sylvain. 

Inside proved to be no more welcoming than out, the only difference was that it didn’t reek as aggressively of urine. Nobody greeted you when you entered. In fact, you drew more than a few stares. You had the distinct and sinking feeling that you did not belong. Keeping your head high, you hurried to who you assumed was the proprietor and asked if he’d seen Sylvain. He said nothing until you produced a few coins, and then he nodded to the back. The boards creaked beneath your boots. Everything smelled musty and even with a fire burning, you could practically taste the cold in the air. The back had a short hall with doors, maybe to rent out rooms? Although that was unimportant in comparison to the sight of two people at the very end of it. 

As soon as you realized that it was Sylvain and that he wasn’t alone, you ducked away, heart racing. All of your panic seemed to be for nothing though, they were too busy to notice you. It was any wonder you hadn’t noticed the loud, messy sound of kissing before you rounded the corner. Although, if you hadn’t seen a quick flash of them in the act, you might have been confused as to what was causing all of the breathing and moaning and sucking noises. Certainly no kissing you’d ever observed sounded like that. Understanding what, exactly, you had stumbled upon made you cringe and flush hotly, the notion that you should give them privacy conflicting with your desire to go home.

Suddenly, Sylvain groaned, a low noise that you felt as much as you heard. It made your breath catch, the muscles of your thighs clenching unintentionally. 

“Not here,” he admonished breathlessly. 

“We can get a room,” you heard the woman say, her voice husky.

“I’d love to, gorgeous,” he said. “But I’ve gotta take my sister home before it gets too late.” That startled you, feeling a flash of worry that he’d seen you. But if had, there was no way he’d keep going with this.

“Aren’t I more important? Fuck your sister,” the woman responded. 

Sylvain laughed. 

“What?” she demanded. That clearly wasn’t the response she wanted.  

“No, nothing,” Sylvain said awkwardly, clearing his throat. “I really do have to go. Next time though, I promise.” 

“You always say next time,” the woman told him, pouty.  

“I mean it,” Sylvain said, his voice lowered to convey its sincerity. “Do you really think I’d lie to you, baby? You know you’re the only girl for me.” 

At first you thought they might be done, but then you heard her muffled moan and realized they were kissing again. Fabric shuffled. Something thunked dully against the wall. You knew you shouldn’t have been listening like this, that it was wrong and disgusting and disturbing and terrible, but you couldn’t move. A darkly curious part of you wanted to know what they were doing that would make sounds like that, although the thought of knowing profoundly disgusted you. 

When they finally stopped, muttering something you couldn’t make out, you only had a few moments to think of what to do before you heard footsteps. And, really, in all of your flustered embarrassment, you had even less time. 

The woman emerged first, smoothing her blond hair with a passive expression that didn’t give any hint to what you just heard. She didn’t see you, sauntering out the door with a farewell to the proprietor you had given money to. While you didn’t get a good look at her face, you got more than enough time to see her curvaceous figure. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to spy on people?” Sylvain asked, surprising you into jumping, letting out a little squeak. And then you looked at him, and the embarrassment returned in full force. He ran a hand through his messy hair, doing nothing to tame it, and licked his red, slightly swollen lips. You very pointedly did not watch either movement, your breathing too fast as you tried to come up with a valid excuse.  

“I was… I didn’t mean… I came to find you, ah-and…” 

“Just out of curiosity, how much did you hear?” he asked.

“Nothing!”  you said quickly, eyebrows shooting up. 

“Right, I bet you’re going to tell me you only just got here,” he said, obviously toying with you. He knew you were lying, but if you admitted it now, that’d only make it worse.

“I did,” you agreed, choosing what you hoped was the lesser of two evils.  “I, um, I’m done shopping so I wanted to let you know I’m ready to leave.” 

“I’m pretty sure I told you to stay there and wait for me to come back,” Sylvain said. He looked around the bar, surveying the unfriendly faces that were pointedly not staring at you. “This side of town isn’t exactly welcoming.” 

Had he told you that? You couldn’t remember. “I’m… sorry.”

“If something happened to you, it’d be my fault, you know,” Sylvain said, looking down at you. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne as well as the woman’s perfume. An overwhelming scent.  “I’m sure you’re used to just doing whatever you want, right? But now that it’s my responsibility to look out for you, I expect you to listen to me.”     

He spoke down to you like an adult to a child which, although irritating in its own way, only worsened the embarrassment of being chastised. “I’m sorry,” you said again, staring hard at his chest to avoid his gaze. “But you don’t, um… I can look out for myself. We’re basically the same age.”  

“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvain said. “I’m your big brother, so it’s up to me to keep you safe.” 

None of this would have been an issue if he hadn’t left to spend time with his girlfriend, but you didn’t want to point that out and risk dragging out this uncomfortable conversation. “Okay,” you agreed, hoping that’d be the end of it. 

You flinched when Sylvain tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Promise that you’ll listen to me from now on,” he said. 

You breathed out shakily, too overwhelmed to do anything other than obediently agree. “I pr-promise.” 

“If you don’t,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward slightly, “I’ll definitely be forced to punish you.” 

Your mouth opened, but you didn’t say anything. How were you supposed to respond when you couldn't even figure out what he meant by that? Your insides twisted into a riotous state, but your head was pretty solidly empty of any coherent thought. 

Suddenly, just as quickly as it came, Sylvain’s darker mood disappeared into a big grin and let your chin drop. “Hah, you totally fell for that! I got worried it was too corny, but I guess not,” he said with a laugh, ruffling your hair affectionately. “That face was priceless. You’re way too gullible.” 

“What?” you asked, beyond being confused and still trying to piece together a rational thought.

“I was just messing with you,” Sylvain said. “I mean, who would actually say something like that?” 

“Oh… yeah,” you said, trying desperately to laugh with him. 

“Come on,” Sylvain said, fixing his clothes as he turned towards the door, “let’s go home.” 

You followed his lead out into the cold towards the coach, chewing on your lip in a state between embarrassment and a sickened sense of conflict. With each crunching step, the silence grew ever more daunting. He said it was a joke, so you shouldn’t have cared. You didn’t care. You weren’t even sure why you reacted the way you did, your stomach dropping out helplessly. Sylvain helped you into the carriage in the most gentlemanly fashion, following behind and shutting the door. It was entirely quiet in the cab save for muffled noises from outside. You had no idea what to say, and you couldn’t figure out what Sylvain was thinking.  

All you could think about was the word punish and the sound of him groaning that first time. Such an honest, guttural response to pleasure. In some ways, it would have been less intimate to catch him in a state of undress. Of course, that only invited the idea of shirtless Sylvain into your head and you knew your cheeks were burning but you couldn’t think of anything else to distract yourself. He was your stepbrother. It didn’t matter that you weren’t related and that he was a man and around your age and attractive, to even slightly entertain these thoughts was condemnable. 

“Your girlfriend is very beautiful,” you told him, latching onto the first safe thought you could  manage.

“My… what?” Sylvain asked. 

“The—that girl,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing with nervous confusion. 

“Oh! Yeah, right,” he said, nodding in comprehension. “I wouldn’t say she’s my girlfriend or anything. We’ve been out a few times. You know how it is. I just wanted a good time, but she wants more.” 

If that was the case, he had done a very poor job of expressing that to her. But saying so would only reveal that you had been listening, so you just nodded like you understood. “Yeah. That’s, um, frustrating.” 

“Speaking of which, is there a mark on my neck?” Sylvain asked, pulling down his collar enough to reveal the ivory pale column of skin marked halfway down with an angry red splotch. 

“There’s a red spot,” you said, frowning. “Does it hurt?”  

“What? No. I asked her not to leave a mark, but some girls get possessive like that.” He sighed, clearly disgusted with the idea, rubbing his neck. 

You didn’t know what he meant, but you figured it was probably better not to ask if it had to do with the girl who was not his girlfriend that you were still pretending you hadn’t heard him kissing. You didn’t want to know. 

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you,” Sylvain said knowingly, smiling again. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unable to look at him. 

“No, I-I do,” you lied.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed doubtfully. “And a sweet girl like you would never lie to her big brother, would she?” 

You exhaled harshly, bowing your head even more in the hopes he couldn’t see your expression as shame and guilt and disgust swirled through you in quick succession. Knowing filthy things wasn’t becoming of a lady, let alone one who had spent so little time around men. It was far outside the scope of what was appropriate, or even what you wanted to know. But it didn’t help the terrible feeling that you were less than compared to him, childishly ignorant. At least he didn’t push it. 

“By the by, that cloak looks lovely on you,” Sylvain said after a moment.

“Thank you,” you said on a reactive impulse, caught off guard by the sudden praise but happy to change subjects. And it was very pretty, even if more muted in comparison to what you usually wore.

“I bet you were really popular with all the guys before you came here. I wonder how many hearts you broke when you left.” He paused, grinning. “Then again, their loss is my gain, right?” 

And just like that, things were awkward again. “I didn’t… I-I wasn’t… Like that.” 

“What?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide with shock. “There’s no way a pretty girl like you didn’t have men throwing themselves at your feet.”

The idea was laughable, but you had no idea how to tell him that you were too awkward, too easily flustered, to really attract or even want that sort of attention. As your interactions with Sylvain had proven, it was too embarrassing to be worthwhile. “I’ve never… never thought too much about that sort of thing.” 

Sylvain stared you down for a second as if trying to see if you’d crack, but you were telling the truth this time. “Hah. You’re pretty lucky, you know that?” he asked. “Being able to live without that sort of attention and pressure, I guess money doesn’t draw people in the same way as a title or Crest. Or maybe your mother just spoiled you too much.” 

“I don’t know,” you responded slowly, unsure of where he was going with this. Once again, it seemed like Sylvain’s ever-shifting mood had taken a darker turn. Or maybe it was another joke?

“I get it, though,” he said, leaning back. “As your doting big brother, I’d like to spoil you too, you know?” 

No, you didn’t. And you were fairly confident that it was another one of the things you didn’t want to know. But you had already done enough to embarrass yourself, so you ducked your head in an attempt to hide your face and became very interested in the bleak landscape passing outside the window.

v.

rounding the bend

“May I talk to you?” you asked, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of your mother’s desk, practically wringing your hands in an attempt to not seem jittery. You weren’t sure what you meant to tell her, it wasn’t as if you had some massive piece of evidence that you could bring out to say that Sylvain made you uncomfortable. All you wanted was advice, or maybe to have her moderate a bit. Unfortunately, there never seemed to be a good time for the conversation. 

You wouldn’t say anything at all if it weren’t for the fact that the teasing was getting to be too overwhelming. Sylvain always seemed to be standing too close, or his hand happened to be in a place to brush your thigh beneath the table, or he leaned in to speak intimately close to your ear—you didn't know what to do. She said to have grace and dignity, but there was no graceful way to blush, and no dignified way to stammar out basic words when he said something that embarrassed you terribly.

“What is it?” she asked, distractedly looking up at you. Always distracted. For most of your life, she had been a rather unapproachable figure, always consumed with her work, never as sensitive to your feelings as you would wish. But it had gotten worse here, or perhaps you were just more acutely aware of the isolation. 

“It’s just… I was wondering if we could talk?” 

She shuffled some papers, her attention clearly split. “Talk about what?” 

“Talk, um… It’s about Sylvain, I—” you cut yourself off at the sound of footsteps. All the fine hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you jumped, looking over your shoulder even though you knew who it was, could feel it.

“Did somebody say my name?” 

Of course, of course, of course. You looked quickly at your mother and back at him, forcing a smile. “Ye-yeah, I was… wondering if she knew where you were.” 

“What a coincidence, I was just looking for you,” Sylvain said with a grin. You couldn’t tell from his expression if he had known, somehow, what you were about to say of it really was the world’s most unlucky coincidence. “I was thinking we could go to town for lunch, I know a place that makes food that almost has flavor to it.” 

Your mother was paying a little more attention now, looking up at the two of you. “I take it you’re getting along well?” 

Sylvain wrapped his arm around you before you could respond, squishing you against him affectionately. All you could smell was cologne, as well as the headier scent of Sylvain himself, a musky, manly smell. “Yep. You raised a truly wonderful daughter, although that’s not surprising for a woman as amazing and beautiful as you. How my father managed to find such perfect girls to bring home is beyond me, I guess the old man still has some taste left.” 

“I, um, I’m not feeling very well, actually,” you said softly, ducking out from under Sylvain’s arm. “I think I might go lay down. Sorry."

“Sure, no big deal," Sylvain said with a wink. "Next time, okay? I'll hold you to it."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I'll see you both tonight."

"Ooo, about that, I've got plans tonight," Sylvain said. "If that's okay with the lady of the house, of course." 

Your mother smiled wryly. As if she had any say in what he did or didn’t do. Not even his own father could contain the lawless whirlwind that was Sylvain. 

"I’ll see you tomorrow then, Sylvain," you said as you made a hasty retreat. His eyes weighed heavily on your back, even when you left his direct line of sight. Sylvain knew what you had been about to say, what you were worried about. It was in the same deft, sneaky way he knew when he could tease you with nobody seeing, or what sort of comment would make your breath hiccup. 

But then, a part of your brain whispered, he was such an overt, abrasive flirt. He had no qualms about public trysts or scandals. You could be wrong about everything, wrong that there was some insidious intent behind his actions, and wrong that he would have time or desire to play such twisted mind games. You could be misremembering things, or fooling yourself into finding some deeper meaning out of your own sick perversions. After all, you could still clearly remember the sound of him groaning in pleasure while kissing that woman, your brain refused to let go of it. If it was you who conjured these sick fantasies, if it were your mind that assumed depravity where there was none, what did you do then? How did you overcome such sin?

Goddess save you.

vi.

jumping at shadows

Ghosts weren’t real. 

Probably. 

But if they were real, they would live in Castle Gautier. The place creaked and groaned constantly, strange noises following you, surrounding you. And it was cold. Being ill had only been an excuse earlier, but there was some truth there. Because it was so cold. Horribly cold, the kind that made you feel sick all the way in your bones, a clammy sort of congestion that resisted even the warmest of fires. 

Those two things were the war that kept you up far past your bedtime. Stupidly, you had left your favorite blanket in the library earlier when you had been reading and enjoying Sylvain's absence. Not only your favorite, but the warmest. Sleeping without it had proved impossible, but the idea of leaving your bedroom was nearly unbearable because you feared what you would find should you venture into the creepy, freezing hallways. There was a time, however, when the chill became genuinely unbearable. If you caught a cold or something, it would only make your situation in the eternally freezing Castle Gautier that much more miserable. 

Ghosts weren’t real. So you bundled up in your warmest housecoat and set out, holding a candle high and telling yourself you weren’t afraid. You couldn’t be hurt by that which did not exist.

How could a place be so dark? Not an absence of light, but void of it. Wherever your candle’s flickering illumination didn’t touch was eaten by the ravenous shadows. You had just made your way down the steps into the high ceiling atrium connecting the various wings when you heard what sounded like heavy, echoing footsteps. From where, you couldn’t tell. From who, you also couldn’t tell. If the dark had been a problem in the blocky square halls connecting the bedrooms, it was an overt menace here where there was more space to fill. But ghosts weren’t real. Fear froze you all the same, your straining eyes darting from side to side in a vain hope to see past the dark and wondering if you should just turn back now. 

But you’d come this far and the things you feared were childish. More than likely, you had heard the footsteps of the guards that remained on constant vigil. Cursing your cowardice, you found the guts to reach the library, focusing only on what was directly in front of you as you retrieved your blanket and returned to the main hall. It was quiet now. Eerily still. But…

But. 

Was there a sound? The wind, certainly. It howled right outside the walls, a threatening and mournful wail. Footsteps? You couldn’t tell. Chills covering your body, you looked around in an attempt to see beyond the encroaching darkness, but you still couldn’t see anything, it was impenetrable. If ghosts were real, that’s where they’d hide. You knew that for a fact. But they weren’t real.  

“Is someone there?” you called, your voice faint. More scraping. Footsteps, definitely footsteps. You couldn’t even tell where they were coming from, the sound echoed off of the tall ceiling. You weren’t scared. Ghosts weren’t real. “Hello?” 

“Boo!” 

The single word, spoken from behind you, induced the scream that had been building up in your chest, but a hand clapped over your mouth before the sound made it very far. You dropped your blanket and the candle holder, snuffing out your only source of light. Hot wax splattered your slippered feet. You thrashed, panicking, but your attacker kept you pinned against them, unable to turn around. 

Somewhere, emerging from the raw panic of fear, you realized that it couldn’t have been a ghost if you were being held by a fully corporeal figure. And then you realized that the air puffing against your ear was laughter, and the chest rumbling against your back was making a familiar sound. 

“I didn’t think you would freak out like that,” Sylvain said, still chuckling. All of the adrenaline pumping terror through your veins dissolved into anger as you made sense of everything, furious tears pricking in your eyes as you tried to wrestle out of his grip. “Hey, calm down. It’s just me,” he told you sweetly, rocking you back and forth. “I didn’t mean to scare you so much, honestly. Please don’t be mad.” 

When you stopped struggling so recklessly, Sylvain uncovered your mouth, that arm winding around your waist to hold you against him instead. 

“Let me go,” you said, pushing at his arms, still upset enough about being scared to sound angry.

“Can’t a guy have a minute to comfort his sweet baby sister?” Sylvain asked. Despite the soothing tenor of his voice, one of his hands pushed beneath your housecoat to press against your nearly bare chest. It froze you solid, the rest of your fear and anger turning to dread and confusion.

“Wha-what are you doing?” you asked, your voice slightly too high with stress. 

“Your heart is really racing,” Sylvain said, his voice slurring a little, rumbling in his chest. Was he drunk? “It reminds me of when we hunt small game. Their little hearts have to work so much harder. Especially when they’re scared. It makes me feel kinda bad, you know?” 

At his mentioning it, you could almost feel your heart beating against his large palm. Being compared to small prey didn’t at all help your nerves and embarrassment. While improbable, if anyone were to shine a light on the two of you at that moment, you knew what it would look like. The word was incest, and it didn’t matter that you weren’t actually related because—as Sylvain himself had stated—you were legally and technically family.  

“Let me go,” you told him, pushing against his arms with increasing distress. Sylvain didn’t budge, nuzzling against the side of your head. The air of his breath made you shiver. He smelled like pipe smoke and spice, his clothes cold from being outside. 

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked. 

Yes, of course it did. But you felt as if that would be the wrong answer, or at least the one he was waiting for, the one he would tease you about. “Please, just…” You pushed at him again, trying to squirm away to no avail. Even if you were strong, which you knew you weren’t, Sylvain had the might of a Crest bearer who had been trained to wield weapons since childhood. It was a lost cause. When you whined, trying to worm your way out of his grip, Sylvain’s breath caught, his arms tightening. That really only made it worse, you struggled harder.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, his voice a bit lower. He laughed again, but it was breathless. “To be honest, I didn’t think that you were so shameless. Not that I mind, I wondered if all of this wide-eyed innocence was an act.”

You froze, realizing that you had inadvertently been grinding against him. Even you knew enough to understand the immoral implications of that act. “No, that’s not-”

“Hey, don’t stop on my account,” Sylvain said, pulling you even closer. “I’m glad you’re finally warming up to your big brother like this.”

“Let me go, please,” you whined, pushing pathetically at his arms as your distress mounted. “This is wrong.”

Sylvain sighed, maybe responding to the threat of tears in your voice. “Hey, I was just teasing,” he said, finally releasing. “I don’t think anybody could fake this level of naivety.”

You sniffed, putting a few paces of space between the two of you and fixing your housecoat with jerky movements. He couldn’t possibly see very much of you through the unyielding darkness, but the feeling of exposure pressed insistently against you, a filthy weight. 

“I‘m not naïve,” you argued softly, embarrassed that he would think to apply a word with such childish connotations to you. Sure, you didn’t have his experience, but that wasn’t a bad thing. 

“That wasn’t an insult,” Sylvain said. “The opposite, actually. I think it’s pretty cute.”

“I…um…”  

“Anyway,” Sylvain continued, gracefully saving you from stammering out a response you didn’t have. “Why are you up so late? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”  

At least now the darkness worked in your favor; he couldn’t see your embarrassment. There wasn’t much of an age difference between the two of you, yet he was talking like you were a child. Again. “I left my blanket down here,” you muttered, stooping over to collect what you had dropped. It was difficult to find the candle in the dark, your fingers trailing over droplets of dried wax before finding what you wanted. You hauled the blanket over your shoulder and set the candle back into the holder, unsure what you could do about the mess. 

“You know, if you’re having a hard time staying warm,” Sylvain said, “I’ve got something that might help you in my room.”

“Do you have extra blankets?” you asked doubtfully as you stood up, squinting through the dark as if that would help you see him better. 

“No, but I’ve got a better way of staving off the cold,” Sylvain said. 

You heard the sound of a match being struck, and he held out the flame. You let Sylvain light the candle, getting a better look at him in its flickering glow and muttering your thanks. He didn’t look drunk. His shadowed eyes looked plenty lucid, that smile making your breath catch. Everything about that look and his low, teasing tone of voice warned you not to ask. After what he’d done, you really should have been running back to your room and locking the door behind you. But you didn’t. 

“How?” you asked.

“I’ve been told I make for an excellent source of heat for chilly nights like these,” he said. “If you come into my room, I’d be happy to keep you warm.” 

You stared at him in disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. All you got was silence. “Are you… joking?” you finally asked.

Sylvain laughed, a casual, relaxed sound. “Ah, you’re too much,” he told you fondly. Then, sighing, his smile dropped. “You really have no idea what it does to a guy, do you? I swear, I try to restrain myself, but sometimes I can’t help it.”

“I-I wish you wouldn’t,” you said.

“Is that why you lied about being sick today?” 

“I wasn’t… I didn’t lie.”

“Really? Maybe next time I’ll cancel my plans so I can stay home and take care of you,” Sylvain said. “That’s what brothers do, right? I’m sure I can make you comfortable.” 

“I… um…” you stopped, exhaling slowly. “It’s okay, I’m feeling better now. But I should… I should go to bed, I’m very tired.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Sylvain agreed, his little smile not fading. “You better hurry, before the boogeyman catches you out of bed so late. Who knows what he might do to a cute girl like you.”

“Goodnight, Sylvain,” you said softly, watching him warily for a moment before turning around and ascending the stairs, the light wavering with your shaking hand.

Shut into the sanctuary of your room, you put a hand over your heart and felt it beating, pounding against your ribcage and then against your palm. Threatening to burst right out of your chest, to run off like scared prey. 

vii.

a wolf in sheep’s clothing

“You were a pretty big hit tonight,” Sylvain said on the way up to your rooms. His was further down the hall, so it couldn’t be avoided that you’d walk together. Your thoughts on the subject of your overly friendly stepbrother were impossible to make sense of, but your discomfort remained. The other night had crossed a line, you thought, but he hadn’t mentioned it. And maybe he had been drunk, and maybe you were tired enough to be misremembering, and maybe—

But you couldn’t help the unease that crawled through you whenever he was around. 

"Everyone was really nice," you agreed, looking at the floor to avoid accidentally meeting his eye.

“Especially the guys, right?" Sylvain teased, his voice friendly enough, but not entirely. Or you were reading into it out of nerves. He had been perfectly pleasant all night, after all. 

“I don’t know,” you said with a noncommittal shrug.

"Don't tell me you didn't notice,” Sylvain said, feigning surprise. “Viscount Braley’s eyes almost popped out of his head.” His amused tone died off into a sigh. “Not that I blame them, but it feels pretty weird to have other guys looking at your little sister like that. I always thought it was a huge overreaction when the brother of a girl I was dating threatened to fight me, but I’m starting to get it.” 

“It wasn’t like that,” you said.

“All I’m saying is that it’s a good thing you have me around to keep them in check. I hate to think what those jerks would do if you didn’t have anyone watching over you… And speaking of that,” he continued, his tone lightening, “did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?” 

After everything else he had said, the praise shouldn’t have been so potent. But it was, and your face responded in kind, blood rushing to your cheeks and ears in a blatant signpost of your feelings. 

“Thank you. You-you look nice too,” you said, trying to deflect. It wasn’t a lie, either, although you were certain Sylvain knew how good he looked in the red suitcoat. The scarlet hair should have made for an overbearing combination, but the rich velvet’s shade was dark enough to look nothing less than devastatingly handsome.   

“You think?” he asked with a cocky smile. “I was the best looking guy there, wasn’t I?” 

You blinked, uncertain of how you were meant to answer that. If you were to be transparently honest, Sylvain was the best looking of them all. He had something other men lacked. Despite his friendly features and noble polish, Sylvain’s sparkling brown eyes held a visceral kind of thrill, an excitement playing on the edge of danger. Even the women who scorned him—and there were more than a few of those—couldn’t help but stare enviously when you arrived together. But you couldn’t admit that openly to yourself, let alone to him. 

“Um…” 

“Wait,” Sylvain said, his smile dropping, “you’re not interested in someone else, are you? There were a lot of eligible noblemen there.”

“It wasn’t… it’s not like that,” you said, balking at the insinuation. It wasn’t true, but it shouldn’t have mattered if it were. He was your stepbrother, not your husband or keeper. Seeing him in that way would be, at best, incredibly weird. 

“Sure, sure,” Sylvain allowed with an ironic nonchalance, shrugging. 

As it so often happened with him, you didn’t know what to say to that. Explaining would just make it worse. Arriving at your door came with a sigh of relief. 

“Um… Goodnight, Sylvain,” you said, twisting the knob.  

“Yeah, goodnight,” he said, his expression still unreadably impassive in a way you didn't like. 

There was nothing for you to do about that, so you gave him a final nod and opened your door to slip inside, nudging it shut behind you. But it didn’t close. 

“Just one more thing,” Sylvain said. The shiny leather toe of a man’s dress boot was wedged between door and frame, quickly followed by the rest of him. You stumbled back, eyeing him warily as he closed the door behind himself with a creak of old wood and the metal click. “Don’t worry, I know it was an exciting night and you’re probably tired,” he told you with a soothing voice, hands raised innocently. “I’ll be quick.”  

“Do you need something?” you asked, your heart racing so fast you almost worried he would be able to hear it. 

"No, it—hey, calm down, okay?” Sylvain said, clearly trying to placate you. “It’s just something that’s been bothering me for a while, but I didn’t want to bring it up before and embarrass you.”

Your shoulders raised protectively, your hands raising to nervously pull your hair over your shoulders to hide their trembling. “What is it?” 

“Come here,” Sylvain said, holding his hand out invitingly. 

“Tell me first,” you said, drawing further into yourself. 

Sylvain sighed impatiently, stepping forward and grabbing you before you could move away. You yelped as he twisted you around, pushing you back against the door. The impact wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it knocked your breath away. He crowded in so close that your chests almost touched. When you tried to force him off, to wiggle away, Sylvain entwined your fingers together to pin that hand by your head, his other arm braced against the door to cage you in. And then all of your fighting stilled when he pushed his knee between your legs. It was a position so suggestive you really didn’t think there was any way to mistake its profane meaning. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, testing his hold on your hand with a final surge of all your strength. He didn’t falter, not even a little. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sylvain said, so earnestly you could almost believe him. “Do you remember when we went to town and that girl left a mark on my neck?” 

“I…. Yeah,” you said, hoping that going along with it would make it release you faster. 

“And then you lied, saying you knew what it was. Do you remember that?” 

“I wasn’t lying,” you said with a rapid shake of your head.

He snorted. “Yeah, you were, and I think this is pretty important knowledge now that you’re going out with other guys. I can’t let my baby sister get taken advantage of just because she doesn’t know any better.” Sylvain brushed your hair away from your neck, which was exposed in full due to the scooped neckline of your dress. You flinched away from the touch, but there was nowhere to go. 

“Stop,” you begged, pushing at him again. He ignored you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you up, adjusting his stance so he could get at your neck. 

“I guess you could say that this is how people mark their territory,” Sylvain explained, his breath brushing against your jaw, down the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips close enough that you could feel them move. “It’s a pretty possessive thing to do.” You whimpered when Sylvain licked the spot above your fluttering pulse, shivered at the nervously electrified sensation it caused. “See?” he asked, pleased with your reaction. “It feels kinda good, right?” 

“N-no,” you told him, trying desperately to push him away. Sylvain, again, ignored you, his lips ghosting further down to the juncture of neck and shoulder. He kissed the spot there once, his tongue dragging across the flesh. Your breath shuddered, your entire body shaking hard against his. Another kiss, and then his mouth opened enough to suck against the skin. Gently, at first, and then not so gently, teeth joining tongue to add to the sensation. You writhed against him in an attempt to escape the pain, whimpering softly despite your best efforts to endure it in silence. Sylvain groaned, his mouth working harder against the skin, definitely enough to leave a mark. 

"Sylvain…” Your whining attempt to stop him only made Sylvain more intent. He pushed you harder against the door, his hand squeezing yours painfully, his knee drawing up to firmly grind you against his muscular thigh. There were layers of fabric separating your sensitive core from the pressure, but it didn’t stop the regretful, sickening pleasure. You mewled, a terrible little noise you couldn't swallow back. Pain shouldn’t have been pleasurable in any way, but the feeling of his mouth on your neck had your body writhing, unintentionally and gracelessly grinding yourself against his thigh. 

Finally, his mouth left your skin with a slick pop, a sensation nearly as powerful as the act itself. Release was followed by flare of heat and goosebumps in a liquidy bloom from where he’d marked you. “There,” Sylvain said, leaning back to get a look at his work with a satisfied expression. “And now you know.” His finger traced along the mark, his expression twisting slightly with regret. “Sorry. I may have been a bit too rough, but it’ll fade. Just be sure to keep it covered up until then.” His lips quirked into a teasing smirk, his eyes half lidded. “You wouldn’t want anyone to know that you let your big brother give you a hickey, right?”

You nodded slowly, your bottom lip trembling with the force of despair and disgust the comment inspired within you. 

Sylvain’s eyes tracked the motion, the playful expression slipping. Then he exhaled harshly, looking away. “Yeah, okay. I should, uh, I should leave. Now.” With a final squeeze of your hand, he peeled his body away from yours and took a few steps back, letting you clumsily stumble away from him with your hand covering your neck. Sylvain’s cheeks were flushed, another shade of fetching rose to add to the red and white blur that became of him as your eyes filled with tears.

“Goodnight,” he said as he opened your door. “And, hey, if you get cold or can’t sleep, I don’t lock my door.” 

You nodded, just wanting Sylvain to leave. With a final once over that made your skin crawl, he did. When you were sure he was an appropriate distance down the hall, you rushed to your door and locked it, bracing yourself against it as if he were going to return and attempt to batter it down. The mark on your neck throbbed in time with your heartbeat. When you traced it with your fingertips, you could feel the intentions of his teeth. 

For a moment, you considered telling your mother, begging her to step in. But then Sylvain’s question came to mind—You wouldn’t want anyone to know that you let your big brother give you a hickey, right? No. Absolutely not. And given how little fight you actually put up, certainly not enough to have evidence of your attempt to stop him, you weren’t sure it was believable if you tried to tell her you didn’t want it. Really, you could barely believe it yourself considering the hollow ache that had sparked up between your legs, a needful thrum that begged satisfaction. 

Being an adult, shedding childish innocence, meant cynical recognition of the real world. In the real world, you had secrets drenched in shame, a heart beating with the frantic speed of prey, a hickey on your neck from your stepbrother, and a fragile position in a court that barely accepted your presence with a family that could easily ruin you if they learned of this. These were the adult games with their high stakes and rigid rules. Hide that which was unsavory and claim ignorance of your sick secrets. And then, to maintain the game of pretend that people called the status quo, ignore ignorance itself. 

viii.

face the music

All dressed up for your first county ball in Gautier territory—a tradition for the young, available ladies and lords with titles or enough wealth—you looked your very best. Being so awkward, you liked to think that clothes would work for you where your clumsy social skills did not. It was harder to dwell on your reflected image now, your eyes kept anxiously returning to the high neck. Stylish, yes, but also necessary. Your skin was still stained with an ugly, healing bruise right where your neck met shoulder, faded from the days that had passed but dark enough to need covering. Remembering that night made you feel sick. Thinking of Sylvain made you feel dirty. What right did you have to play the demure girl wishing only to dance and mingle when you were tainted? Those thoughts, the ones that had kept you mostly hidden away in your room for the past few days, filled you with tumultuous disgust and shame, tears threateningly pricking at the corner of your kohl-lined eyes.

Forcing those emotions down so as to not ruin all of the work you had put into looking nice, you turned away from the mirror, your long skirt flaring as you twirled. It was fine. You looked good. Dancing was fun. The dinner the other night had gone well before he ruined it, the dance would too. It helped that Sylvain had made it clear that he wouldn’t be attending, saying that he was likely to get accosted by unhappy exes if he tried. 

After going downstairs, you preened beneath your mother’s hard-won attention and affection. These days, the two of you sometimes felt like strangers, but she had an affinity for clothes much like your own, admiring the gown sent in from Fhirdiad dressmakers and fixing strands of errant hairs. Considering your age and the event, it wasn’t proper for her to be your chaperone as she might have otherwise, but she was worried. There was a sense of dark comedy in the knowledge that you were likely safer at a ball than in your own home, the type of cruel joke that only Sylvain might find actually funny. 

Eventually, wrapped in a fashionable capelet that matched your ensemble, you were escorted by the Gautier’s coachman to the carriage, settling in for the ride. You signaled to leave with a few raps on the ceiling, but before it could, the cab jostled, the door opening. You watched with wide-eyed dread as Sylvain climbed in, closing the door behind him and settling in the opposite seat in a whirl of his fluttering cloak and the rich scent of cologne. 

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“I should be the one asking that, you almost left without me,” Sylvain said, tapping the ceiling to tell the coach to take off. The horses jolted into action, the cab jostling as the wheels were pulled out of their muddy ruts. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, holding out half a hope that this was one of his not so funny jokes. 

“We’re going to the ball, aren’t we?” 

“Bu-but… You said you weren’t.” 

“Only because I didn’t realize you wanted to,” Sylvain said. “If you had told me, I wouldn’t have made other plans. Luckily, I was already dressed to go out when I heard you leaving. Your mother was so relieved. She really worries about you, you know that?” 

You gaped at him in utter disbelief, all thoughts of having a nice night out torn into tatters. “You didn’t have to-to do that,” you told him. 

“I can’t just let some opportunistic creep take advantage of my sweet baby sister’s innocence.” 

Hearing Sylvain say that felt like a slap in the face. The bruise on your neck throbbed dully, the memory of his thigh between your legs making them clamp together. “I don’t need a chaperone,” you said in as even of a voice as you could, your hands clenched into fists on your lap. “It’s a dance, I’ll be surrounded by people.” 

“And if you’re dancing with a guy and his hand happens to drift a bit too far down your back? Or if he lures you away from the ball with a cheesy line?” Sylvain asked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, we both know you don’t have it in you to make him back off.” 

Of all the embarrassing reactions to have, tears pricked at your eyes, shame burning your cheeks. 

“But,” Sylvain continued, either ignoring your reaction or pretending he didn’t see it. “Nobody’s going to try anything as long as I’m there, so it won’t matter.” 

“Nobody would do that anyway,” you muttered, wanting desperately to sound strong but unable to speak any louder for fear of your voice trembling. 

“You really think so?” Sylvain asked, raising an eyebrow. “In that case, I’m doing you a favor here. Maybe you haven’t realized it yet, but now that your mother’s married into the Gautier family, you’re one of the most eligible girls in the Kingdom. Not to mention your beauty. It’s a potent combination. If men aren’t looking exploit your money or title, its because they’re too busy wondering what they can say or do to fuck you.”  

The vulgarity made you cringe back into your seat, your shoulders curled up as if to protect yourself. You stared at your shoes, trying to will away your blush, to stamp down your embarrassment. “Stop.” 

Sylvain laughed. “Don’t be so embarrassed. You’ll have to figure these things out eventually. And as your big brother, it’s kind of my job to teach you stuff, right? Like the other night-”

“Don’t!” you told him, your voice louder in panic, a horribly sick feeling of guilt and revulsion and shame crushing you from the inside out. “Just… just stop.”

“Wait, are you… mad at me?” Sylvain asked, sounding genuinely confused. 

“I… I am,” you told him, having to settle for a whisper to hide the tremble in your voice. Speaking was dangerous, you were having a hard time fighting the tears. “The other night… that was too much, I…”  

“Oh, come on,” Sylvain said, rolling his eyes. “I know you liked it, you were basically humping my thigh.” 

“I wasn’t!” 

Sylvain gave you a flat look, his thick eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Next you’re going to tell me that it wasn't you who was moaning, right?” 

“I couldn’t help it,” you said, your voice even softer, almost inaudible.

“Yeah, because it felt good.”

You shook your head, trying desperately to steady yourself. 

“But what I really want to know is if you touched yourself after I left,” Sylvain said, breezing right through your distress, his brown eyes alight in the warm lamp light. 

You just stared at him, feeling your dupe heart pound against your ribs, against the structured bodice of your dress, your lungs desperately trying to inflate against its confines. 

Sylvain’s head tilted thoughtfully. “Huh. Now that I think of it, you probably don’t even know what I mean,” he said, scooting forward. The cab, while luxurious, lacked space. With his annoyingly long legs, the two of you couldn’t even sit directly across from one another without his knees pressing into yours. So when Sylvain grabbed you by the thighs to pull you towards him, you couldn’t escape; there was nowhere to go.

“Stop!” you protested, trying to squirm away. The way he pulled you forward caused your skirt to ride up over your knees, the layers of fabric getting wedged beneath you. 

“Shh, don’t you think you should be a little more quiet?” he asked, wedging his leg between yours to pry them apart. “Unless you want to get caught.” That dreadful threat made him smile. 

“Please stop,” you said in a hushed voice, pushing at him. “I don’t—” Sylvain cut you off by flipping your skirt up enough to get his hand beneath, his palm sliding across your knee and inwards, his calloused fingertips skimming your ticklishly sensitive inner thigh right above the garters which held your stockings in place. 

“Relax,” Sylvain said in a voice that might have been comforting if his eyes weren’t so dark, if they weren’t so obscenely fixated between your legs. “I’m going to show you something. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

Being looked at so intimately was almost the worst of it all, self-conscious embarrassment hitting you in a wave of panicked heat. It was a petty, shameful feeling, but you’d seen several of the girls Sylvain had been intimate with and you hated to compare yourself to others, but it was impossible to not be acutely aware of what you lacked in comparison to them. Desperate to escape his gaze, your back bowed in an attempt to displace his grip, your hands shoving your skirt down to hide. 

Sylvain’s solution was to grab your hips and drag you down almost flat onto the seat, sliding forward enough to support your lower half on his lap with your legs spread on either side of his torso. The position was absurdly awkward in the cramped conditions, but it made it harder for you to fight and gave him easier access.  

“These are adorable,” Sylvain said, flipping your skirt all the way over your waist in a puff of pettiskirts to look at your panties, his thumb grazing the delicate little bow with a warm smile. “You didn’t wear them for me, did you?” 

“N-no. That’s not… I didn’t,” you babbled, your voice tight with distress. Your underwear wasn’t meant to be sexual, nobody was supposed to see it. The garments were nice because you liked the lace and the bows, but now it just felt filthy. Even when you got your arms beneath you, you lacked the leverage to squirm away from him, all it did was spare your neck. “Please ss-stop, Sylvain.” 

“I’m going to be gentle, don’t worry. Girls are really delicate,” Sylvain said, twisting his wrist to run his fingers over the seat of your panties, applying the slightest amounts of pressure. Your eyes went wide, your free hand giving up on trying covering yourself to grab his wrist so he couldn’t do that. Not because it hurt, but you almost wished it did. That’d be better than the knee jerk feeling of pleasure that followed his touch. He smiled. “You have to be gentle, you know? Do a little exploration, figure out what she likes.” 

His long index finger pushed between the outer lips of your pussy, digging the fabric right against your entrance. Your hips jumped against his hand, your thighs tensing with an attempt to close, obstructed by his torso. And he was watching it all, devouring your reactions with those too-perceptive eyes. Stopping him had proven impossible, you opted to cover your face instead, trying to shut it all out.  

“Most guys are way too selfish,” Sylvain continued, his voice increasingly smug as his finger dragged upward, using the fabric as added friction as he drew a lazy circle around your clit. “They don’t want to take the time to know what a girl really needs.”

You whimpered, turning your head away and biting your lip to hide your reaction. Sylvain paused for a moment, spreading your outer lips to give him better access to your swelling clit. All of this through the thin fabric of your fancy underwear, adding a level of removed friction that was driving you wild. 

By the point he was rubbing your clit in earnest, adding more pressure and focusing on the spots that made your hips jerk and thighs twitch, you couldn’t hide the noises you were making. Your entire body was pulled painfully tense, writhing in his lap.  

“Let me see your face, cutie,” Sylvain said.

“Nn-no,” you whined, your voice muffled through your hand, although you couldn’t say what it was that you were rejecting. You didn’t understand at all why, despite every attempt you made to ignore it, his touch felt so good. There was too much stimulation, and your hips kept jerking forward like you wanted more. Worse, you could feel the way your pussy clenched hungrily around nothing, a strange and empty ache. 

“Okay, that’s fine,” Sylvain said, continuing his torment as if it was something casual, something he didn’t even have to think about. “Since this is just a demonstration, I won’t get worked up about it. But when we do this for real, you’re going to do everything I tell you to do, okay?” 

A breathless, helpless keen left your mouth. A sound that was meant to be a rejection, although didn’t count for much when your clit was pulsing beneath his fingers as more and more blood rushed between your legs, tension building beneath every drag of his fingers. 

“I mean it,” Sylvain said. “I expect my sweet little sister to listen to me while I’m fucking her, otherwise I might just have to take you over my knee or something.” 

You made a sound like he’d punched you, almost, your hand dropping to look at Sylvain with some disturbing combination of lust and horror—feelings that had no synergy with your body’s reaction. The twitch of your hips, the anxiously empty tightening of your cunt, the drop of heat and swirling dark lust that only intensified the building pleasure. 

Sylvain laughed. “I knew that would turn you on,” he said smugly, his fingers abandoning your needy clit and returning to your entrance, pressing the fabric between the tense muscles so it could absorb more of your wet arousal. The stimulation drew a sharp keen out of your throat and his laughter cut off. “Fuck, that’s…”

You shook your head. “That’s not…” Not true? It was. You knew it was, he knew it was, all of the same and disgust and despair and self-hatred in the world didn’t make it any less true. “Please… stop.” 

“Fine, fine,” Sylvain agreed warmly, his hand retreating from between your legs. “I think we’re about to be there anyway.” Considering you had been the one to ask him to stop, it was sickening that you would mourn the loss, loathing the feeling of empty need thudding dully between your legs, an unfulfilled ache that made you squirm. “Ah, we do have a slight problem though. There’s no way you can wear these,” he said regretfully, pulling at the inside seam of your panties. “They’re soaked.” 

You quickly pushed your skirt down, awkwardly pulling yourself back into your own seat. Sylvain stopped you, holding your leg in place. 

“It’s fine,” you said, unable to meet his eye, pulling hard to free your leg. 

“No, it’s not,” Sylvain told you, emphasizing the words like you were too dumb to understand. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto them for you until we get home.” 

“But then I won’t have…” you trailed off, flushing as you realized what should have been obvious. Instead you shook your head, unable to look at him directly. “No, I-I won’t.” Sylvain still didn’t release you as the coach pulled alongside the curb, the noise of horses and voices becoming more distinct on the other side, light slanting in through the edges of the drawn curtains. You tugged against him again, desperate to get out of the compromising position. 

“Either you give them to me, or I’ll get them myself,” Sylvain said playfully, like this was a game. “I wonder what the footman would think if he saw that.” 

“You wouldn’t,” you said with fresh horror. Sylvain’s eyes didn’t falter, daring you to call his bluff. The sickening thing was that you couldn’t tell if he would or wouldn’t, only that he wasn’t the one that would be exposed. 

“Fine,” you said, averting your gaze and blinking hard. He released you. Before you could think too hard about it, you pushed your panties down your hips under the cover of your skirt, over your knees and to your ankles. They were, as he said, soaked. Grimacing in disgust, you held them out. 

“I don’t get why you’re so mad, you’re the one who got this wet for your big brother,” Sylvain said, waving them towards you. 

You winced at the taunt, but otherwise ignored him, quickly arranging your skirts back into place with shaking hands. At least it was a long dress. Shame dyed your cheeks in bright heat and you knew he was looking at you as he sniffed and pocketed your panties, you could feel the phantom weight of his touch lingering between your legs, the wrongness of your skirts inner layer rubbing directly against your bare skin, but acknowledging any of it would certainly tip you over the edge. 

The footman opened the door and you hoped to the goddess that you didn’t look as wrecked as you felt, forcing a smile and accepting his help out of the carriage. Sylvain pulled on a pair of gloves as he joined you. In the limelights, his smile shone brilliantly, his hair luminously outlined to a scarlet blaze. Giving no indication of what had just happened, Sylvain held out his arm, his self satisfied umber eyes promising every moral peril you could imagine. And then some.   

“Shall we?” 

ix.

in for a penny

“Did you have a good time?” Sylvain asked as the coach trundled away from the curb, his tone perfectly normal for such a banal question. That did nothing for the sinking dread. Although you had been able to pretend that nothing had happened for most of the evening, that didn’t make it true. Ignorance was a rule in the game of pretend, but harsh reality would always collect its due acknowledgement. 

“Yeah, it was fun,” you told him. Your hands were shaking. The air was cold, and too thin. “I’m really tired though, so I’m gonna rest. If that’s okay with you.” 

“Sure, of course,” Sylvain said, no indication of deception on his face as he dimmed the lamps in their fancy sconces. “It’s pretty late.”

You bit your lip, sickened nerves twisting in your stomach. The uncomfortable breeze between your legs had haunted you the entire night, but now that you were alone with him again, it was all you could think about. 

“May I… have them back?” you asked quietly, staring at your hands folded in your lap. 

“I told you,” he said, “when we get home.” 

The idea of arguing occurred to you, but you worried about where that would go. Every thought of yours that included Sylvain was heavy with horror and desire, you didn’t want to try and figure it out beyond those awful, shameful feelings. You just wanted the night to be over, and to never look Sylvain in the eye again. But, for the time being, it was enough to rest your head against the side with your eyes closed and think about anything and everything that wasn’t what he had done earlier. 

You must have dozed off in some capacity, or at least fallen into that state between wakefulness and sleep that left you only vaguely aware of the world, because it seemed like very little time had passed when Sylvain was nudging you awake. You blinked, sluggishly accepting his help out of the carriage. The estate was mostly dark, of course. Your mother and Margrave went to sleep at a reasonable hour. However, since you and Sylvain were still expected back, there were enough lights that you didn’t have to navigate upstairs in the dark. 

With every step, your anxiety grew. Would he try something again? The mark on your neck thumped dully and you resisted the urge to touch it, knowing he would see. Keeping your breathing evened out was difficult and by the time you reached your door, your entire body was wound tight as a spring. 

“Goodnight, Sylvain,” you said, facing your door, your heart racing as you waited for him to continue past you to his own room. 

“Sure, goodnight,” Sylvain said, not so much as pausing. You exhaled, watching him go with your hand on the knob, ready to rush inside and close the door before he could break in. He looked curiously over his shoulder. “Didn’t you want these back?” he asked, holding up his hand. Your panties hung from his pointer finger like a little flag, swinging as he walked. 

You blushed, compulsively looking either way in fear that someone would stumble upon the scene. At the same time, you hesitated at the idea of engaging with Sylvain anymore for the night, ready to count it as a lost cause. You would never wear them again anyway. 

“You’re really not at all concerned about what I might do with them?” Sylvain asked, sounding surprised. He was almost to his door. “That’s pretty kinky of you, baby sis. Not that I mind. Goodnight.” 

“Wait,” you called, breaking down at the last minute and trotting down the hall. Sylvain didn’t stop, opening his door and going into his room. The door was heavy enough to shut most of the way, but he didn’t close it behind him. It rested uncertainly against the frame, an obvious invitation. You pushed your way in, but stopped at the threshold, refusing to go any further. “Sylvain, wait, you-you said you would give them back.” 

“They’re all yours,” he said, holding them out without looking at you, loosening his cravat to put it on the dresser. 

Despite it being only down the hall, you had never seen Sylvain’s room. It was much grander than your own. Warmer, since most of it was arranged around the fireplace which already burned with an inviting little fire. A few chairs, tables, the dresser, and a large bed filled out the rest, as well as layered rugs and furs on the floor. The smell was more inviting than you wanted to admit, a mixture of Sylvain’s cologne and the soap used for laundry and smoke and something deeper, muskier. It was a strange realization that you had never been inside a man’s room. You didn’t really want to make a habit of it now. 

“Are you going to come get them or not?” Sylvain asked, giving you a sideways look. 

Knowing he was playing with you but unable to see any way around it, you approached him, meaning to snatch them away quickly and retreat. But Sylvain didn’t stop you, letting you take the ruined garment and withdraw. 

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “I told you I’d give them back.” He paused, setting his cufflinks on the dresser. “But while you’re here, why don’t you sit down? I’d love to do a little more sibling bonding. We could pick up where we left off, there are a few more things I’d love to teach you.” 

“I don’t… want…” you said stiltedly, your stomach lurching at the reminder of earlier. You should have said no, and made it clear that you absolutely didn’t want that, but instead you ducked your head. “Um… Goodnight.” Embarrassed and uncomfortable, you turned around and went to the door, catching it from closing all the way. 

In a way, it wasn’t a surprise when the doorknob was pulled from your grip, the door slammed shut by a big hand that came from behind you. Surprise made you yelp, stumbling to the side to get away from him and avoid a repeat of last time. Unfortunately, the only ‘away’ was further into his room. Backing up, your foot caught on the rug, sending you stumbling awkwardly against one of the tables. 

“Why are you acting so weird?” Sylvain asked, giving you an absurdly innocent sideways frown. “Are you upset or something?” 

“No,” you said, righting yourself. “I-I just want to go to bed.”

“It can’t be something I did,” he said, ignoring you. “Right?” 

Your only response to that was a little laugh, but it sounded more like you were sobbing because it wasn’t funny and the fact that you couldn’t leave was making it difficult to breathe. There was no way he didn’t know what he was doing. You needed to get control of yourself. Crying in front of Sylvain, on top of everything else, would be too embarrassing. 

Staring hard at the rug beneath your feet and blinking fast, you tried to get a full breath. In, and out. “I’d rather ta-talk tomorrow.” 

“Oh, well, that’s fine,” Sylvain said. His shiny dancing shoes slowly entered your vision, compelling you to look up at his approach. “I bet you’re pretty worn out from all the dancing, huh? It’s okay. I’m not really in the mood for talking either.” He sounded innocent, but his expression was anything but. You could only guess what he meant.

“I-I just…” you stammered, moving to the side in the hopes he’d let you slip past and leave.  

“You just…?” Sylvain repeated with a smile, grabbing you around the waist to pin you between him and the table. “Come on, whatever you want to say, say it.”  

“Nn-no, no—do-don’t,” you said, pushing against his chest. You let the panties drop out of your hand, choosing to fight his hold with all the frantic insistence of a trapped animal. At this point, you didn’t care if you hurt him, you just needed to get away. 

Surprised by the reaction, Sylvain caught your wrists. “Woah, what is going on with you?” he asked. The table’s edge dug painfully into your back, but you didn’t let that stop you from thrashing around in an attempt to break his grip.

“You know,” you told him, looking everywhere that wasn’t Sylvain’s eyes. “Let me…me go—oh.”

“Is this because of earlier?” he asked. “That was just a joke, you know that, right? I didn’t think it would make you this upset.”  

While his words might have made you doubt yourself, at least a little, Sylvain couldn’t contain his look of amusement. That’s what it was. Not concerned, not confused, not playful. For the first time, Sylvain truly looked mean. He knew how upset you were, but it didn’t convince him to let up. He was only doubling down. You whined, intensifying your efforts to break his hold. The way you were thrashing had the table groaning, the clutter on it knocking around, but you didn’t care about the noise, or the pain of its sharp lip biting into your lower back, or anything. All you wanted was to be as far away from him as possible. 

And it wasn’t working. Sylvain’s grip on your wrists hadn’t loosened, his body remained flush against yours. 

“Le-let me go,” you demanded again, breathing hard enough that your head spun with an awful mixture of panic and exertion. 

“No, you almost have it,” he said, not bothering to hide his smile.

Your eyebrows furrowed, heat quickly rising to your face as humiliation washed over you anew. Fighting was futile, you had never been able to so much as break his hold on you before. All it did was tire you out. Sylvain didn’t even have to try to overpower you, it was that easy for him. This whole situation felt so dramatic, so intense, but it was nothing to Sylvain. A diversion at best, a game that you were only making worse by reacting like this.

Going limp, you buried your face against his chest, hoping to hide your blushing cheeks, to hide the way you were still valiantly fighting off tears. 

“Is that it?” Sylvain asked. 

“You… win,” you said, your voice half muffled and defeated.

“If I won, what’s my prize?” he teased, releasing your wrists. You made a noncommittal sound in response, hoping the pathetic display would be the thing to make him give up. “Actually… nevermind, I know what I want.” When you didn’t play along, Sylvain pulled you away from his chest to look at you. His hand was unnervingly gentle in the way it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing under your bottom lip. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?” 

“What?” you asked trepidatiously, knowing that he’d tell you regardless.

“It’s not that bad,” Sylvain told you, his eyes widening imploringly. “A kiss from my beautiful sister, that’s all.” 

Goddess save you. 

“I-I can’t,” you told him, shaking your head, your nervous eyes fluttering from his eyes to his lips and back again.

“I’ll be your first, right?” Sylvain asked, glee shining through in his gaze. “Don’t worry, it’s easy, just follow my lead.”

You stammered out a few attempts at rejection as he threaded a hand in your hair, your breathing picking up even more. “I-I don’t…” Sylvain ignored you. “Do-don’t think—” The contact of his lips meeting yours was jarring. You didn’t know what to do, but Sylvain didn’t seem concerned. He was gentle at first, tilting your head to make the fit better, trying to tempt you into moving with him slowly. Feeling his tongue run along the seam of your lips made you turn your face away regardless of the pressure on your scalp, the wet wrongness of it already bordering the obscene.  

“We… we can’t,” you got out, fighting your labored breathing. “Sylvain, this isn’t funny. It-it’s incest.” 

"Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be into it either,” he said, his chest puffing with a short laugh. 

Before you could argue, Sylvain used his grip on your hair to tilt your head again, dragging you back into another kiss. This time, your lips were already parted for him, and he didn’t hesitate before pushing his tongue into your mouth. Your brain shorted out, you had no idea how you were meant to respond. You could barely breathe. The sensation of him exploring your mouth was upsetting and gross in its perversion, but it also wasn’t. The raw, animal intimacy of such an act appealed to the darkest parts of yourself, the part that whimpered and moaned when he threatened to spank you. Sylvain groaned, a low sound deep in his chest, and you melted a little, shivering in his arms. 

Still, you weren’t distracted enough by the kiss to ignore Sylvain lifting your skirt and pettiskirts with fistfuls of fabric until he could sneak his hand beneath, but there wasn’t much you could do to stop that either. Tugging on his hair only got a little growl out of him, and trying to pull against his arm directly did nothing. Ultimately, all you could do to protect yourself was tense up, your thighs pressing together so tightly the muscles quivered. Sylvain bit your lip as a diversion, using his foot to widen your stance and then his knee, getting enough space for his hand to land flat between your legs. The light slap wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but the jolt of pressure made you cry out weakly, a sound he eagerly swallowed. When his middle finger curled between your outer lips, dragging lightly right over your entrance, you whined.

Sylvain pulled back from the kiss, his brown eyes glowing. “If I had known you’d get this wet just from a few kisses, I could have saved myself a lot of time.” 

You exhaled, the air trembling with the rest of you. “You-you said you wanted just a…a kiss.”

“Did I?” Sylvain asked. Without warning, his middle finger pressed harder, getting past the resistant muscles of your entrance and deeper, all the way into your pussy. There was no resistance, his finger easily slipping in from how wet you were. You gasped harshly, your posture going rigidly straight at the feeling of your inner walls clamping down around the intrusion. “I already left you unsatisfied earlier, what kind of terrible big brother would I be to ignore you in your time of need again?”

“I-I don’t… I’m dizzy,” you said weakly, clutching at him with shaking hands. “I ca-can’t…” 

“Hey, don’t worry, I get it,” he told you, saccharinely sweet. “We can take things slow. That’s what you need, right? I’ll take care of you.” Sylvain pulled his hand away, letting your skirt drop. Relief was short lived as he dragged you away from the edge of the table, walking the four or so paces backwards until he could sit on the bed. Even though you stood a head taller than him while he sat, you were no less trapped, kept in place between his legs with his grip on your hips. 

“How do you get this off anyway?” Sylvain asked, pinching at the fabric of your dress. Your stomach dropped. 

“Nn-” 

“Oh, nevermind.” He turned you away from him in an awkward stumble, undoing the clasp at the very top of the dress's high neck and working down. “Got it.” 

“Wa-ait,” you complained, trying to twist back around to stop him. Sylvain wasn’t deterred. He was incredibly efficient in getting it undone, likely from experience. 

“Girl’s clothes are too restrictive, that’s probably why you’re having problems breathing,” Sylvain told you in a very matter-of-fact tone. Even with your struggling, he had the bodice peeled down in basically no time. The rest of the dress followed suit, pooling at your feet. “Heh. If I left marks on you like this, you’d be mad, but you’re fine when your dress does it,” he said, trailing a finger down one of the lines imprinted into your skin by the dress. You shivered involuntarily. 

“It’s not the sa-wait, don’t—” Sylvain ignored your objection, undoing the hooks on your bustier with the same easy efficiency. 

“It can’t be comfortable,” he argued, turning you back towards him. Since he’d already taken your panties, the bustier you clutched to your chest was basically all that you had left to keep yourself covered. “Let me see,” Sylvain demanded, grabbing the front of the bustier to pull it away from you. “I’m not going to tease you, I just want to see what my cute little sister’s been hiding under all those pretty dresses.” 

“No, please,” you begged, holding fast onto the garment. But Sylvain won, of course, casting it aside. He grabbed your wrists when you tried to cover yourself, his fingers overlapping. Inescapable. 

Directly level with your breasts, Sylvain could see exactly how far down your embarrassed flush delved. He could see the way your nipples tightened in response to the temperature difference, and the mark he’d left on your neck, and the way your chest heaved as you fought for air, and the imprinted lines left by your clothes. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to escape the weight of his eyes as they devoured you. 

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Sylvain said, dragging you a little closer. “I mean it. You’re beautiful.” You could hear the smile in his voice, even with your eyes closed, the praise doing very little to make you feel better. “Aw, that made you blush more. You know, sometimes the whole innocent thing can be a turn off, but it’s part of what I love about you.” 

That word made your eyes open in shock, and probably dread. 

“What?” Sylvain asked, his head tilting with perfectly knowing innocence. “Isn’t it natural for a brother to love his sister?”

You opened your mouth, and then closed it. Your arms twitched in an attempt to hide your body from him, and then your shoulders curled when you couldn’t. There was no sense to be made in his expression, or understanding of his words. It was just confusion, and disgust, and fear, and the dark, sinking sense that made your thighs clench even tighter. Sylvain watched your reaction for a moment before scooting back, dragging you down against him. 

“Hey, wha—” 

“No, just trust me,” Sylvain said, pulling more forcefully.

You collapsed against him, half kneeling on the bed and half leaning on him for support. It was awkward, but Sylvain didn’t really seem to care as his lips closed around one of your nipples. An actual cry left your mouth, almost a shout of surprise. And then the sensation struck, even more intense than the feeling of him sucking the bruise onto your neck. Unable to handle the new pleasure, your back arched, trying to get away. Sylvain made a noise in his throat, forcefully pulling you back into place and rewarding your escape attempt with the sharp threat of teeth. 

Whimpering and shaking, you didn’t know what to do other than accept it, your hands holding fast to his shoulders for support. You wanted to press your thighs together and relieve some of the needy ache, but that would upset your already precarious balance. It was torturous, both the way his teeth played with your nipple and the way it stoked your desire. Eventually, Sylvain pulled away with a slick sound, leaving your nipple painfully stiff and red. 

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” he asked, his voice low and soft, his eyes fixed intently on yours from below. Warm brown had become dangerously dark in the low light, framed by those thick lashes. His hand snuck down between your legs, trailing over the top of your garters before the fingers dragged up. You trembled, your breathing picking up further. 

“Sylvain, I-I…” You wanted to tell him to stop, to let you go, but it was pointless. This was the culmination of something you had known all along, something you had known for a while now. This was going to happen no matter what you did, an inevitability. These interactions were all, in some twisted way, a game. Just not the kind you thought, and not the kind you had a chance of winning. 

“Come on, don’t you love your big brother?” Sylvain asked, his breath brushing against your breast as he moved to your other nipple. Higher still, his fingers traced across your slit, teasing the sensitive flesh as you squirmed and whined. He made an amused sound at that, pushing past your outer lips to find your clit. Even the slight pressure made you twitch, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “You can admit it,” he continued to tease, so unconcerned with the catastrophic build of emotions you were being overwhelmed by. “There’s nothing wrong with loving your family. Believe me, it could be worse.” 

You whimpered, shaking your head in rejection. But you couldn’t ignore him. If you thought the pleasure was intense when he rubbed your clit through the fabric of your panties, it was nothing compared to this. And then he took your nipple into his mouth, forgoing the pretense of anything other than the mean biting and harsh sucking that had you tossing your head back, unable to stifle your moans. 

He wasn’t taking his time and trying to build you up, he was tossing you directly into the mindless daze of passion. Sylvain’s calloused fingers added an extra edge of friction, the direct contact borderline excessive. You cried out when he bit down, your hips rocking against his hand in an attempt to grind against his fingers. Even when you focused on the motion, you couldn’t stop your body from moving, no more than you make your hands stop shaking. Just like earlier, the dark, insidious ball of tension was forming, your pussy squeezing around nothing.

“You’re still too shy to say it, huh?” Sylvain asked, his breath ghosting over your painfully sensitive nipple. “I guess it is a little embarrassing that you’d be so desperate for your big brother. I’m barely doing anything and you’re this worked up.”

“You’re not… not my…”  

Sylvain didn’t argue, he just added more pressure against your clit, wrapping his hot mouth around your nipple. The scrape of his teeth was no longer a threat, but provocation. Dark pleasure shot down to your core with each bite, urging you to madness. You gasped and mewled, lurching against him at the sudden onslaught. You couldn’t help it. Shaking, needy. Desperate. Everything within you ached for release. Breathing had become difficult, it was any wonder you hadn’t either fallen or simply passed out. 

It would be nice to say you didn’t know any better, but you did. It just didn’t seem as important as getting off, as embracing the hot rush as you came, your clit pulsing against his fingers and hips jerking in some crude beat, your heart jumping within your chest as you pushed it forward, begging him to use his teeth, to suck harder. And it was good. Better than good, overwhelmingly wonderful, a cascade of raw, perfect sensation. For that little moment of pure insanity, you were convinced you did love Sylvain, filled with pleasure and affection. 

But then that thought hiccuped, and you gasped, trying to get away as the moment of perfection faded and your body rejected any more. Sylvain let you go, his wet lips stretching into a smile as he looked up at you. 

“You should thank your big brother for letting you come,” he said.

Panting and hot, it took a moment for your brain to catch up with what just happened. What you had done. You made a noise in the back of your throat, hiding your face behind your hand as the shame set in.

“Heh, or not,” he said dryly. That was basically the only warning you got before he grabbed you, pulling you into his lap. It was awkward, not helped by the way you constantly squirmed, muttering a string of ignored objections. Sylvain caught your ankle with his own, your other leg on the bed, leaving your legs wide open. You tried to lean away, but Sylvain pulled you against his chest. 

“What’re-” 

“I want to see your face, you’re so expressive,” Sylvain said, his fingers making their way back between your legs to tease around your entrance. “You know, it’s like getting a show before the main course… it’s the least you can do to pay me back for being so patient with you.” 

“Stop,” you said, unsure if you should have been more concerned with your face or your nudity. Being so close to Sylvain, being able to smell him, to feel his body heat, had quickly become overwhelming. And now that your skin was flushed, sensitive and shiny with sweat, the fabric of his clothes was abrasively stimulating. 

“Stop… what?”

“You know-ah—” You cut off with a high-pitched, panicked moan. Sylvain happily watched the way your eyes opened wide with surprise as he pushed two fingers into you, you didn’t think to look away as he drove his fingers as deep as he could. Your pussy immediately clamped down hard around the intrusion. He laughed fondly, you could almost believe the sound was one of adoration. 

“Wow, you’re really wet,” Sylvain said. “Listen to this.” He pulled his fingers out slowly, working against the way your inner walls attempted to pull him deeper, only thrusting back in at the last moment with an undeniably filthy squish. Letting out a helpless little noise, you twitched against him like a fly in a spider’s web, well and truly caught. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you want to get fucked by your brother.”

“Don’t… be mean,” you begged, clinging to the front of his shirt.

“What? I’m not being mean,” Sylvain said. A moment later, he hummed thoughtfully. “I could be, if that’s what you want. We both know how much you like it.”  

“I don’t!”

“I guess it’s just coincidental that you got tighter just now, huh?” 

You didn’t know if that was true, but it hadn’t been intentional. Sylvain was easily turning your body against you, your pussy sucking on his fingers as they pulled out despite every rational part of you that knew it was wrong.

“What do you think would be worse—if I didn’t let you come again for the rest of the night-” Slowly now, he worked his fingers back in, curling and scissoring them in a way that made you moan despite yourself, your free leg kicking pathetically. “Or if I tried to figure out how many times I can make you come before tomorrow morning.” His fingers thrust in harder, faster, filthily dragging across your inner walls. You jerked against him in a desperate spasm, your eyes squeezing shut. 

Was he asking you? You couldn’t answer that, you weren’t even sure you understood the question. 

“You would think,” Sylvain continued, “that it’s better to have too many than not enough, right? Especially for a spoiled brat like you.” His fingers hadn’t stilled, already picking up pace, eagerly feeding your desire for more, building you back up. “But I’ve heard that it can be really uncomfortable.” Sylvain’s fingers twisted within you, curling up against a spot that made you shake, whimpering and gasping. “I guess we could try them both, you can tell me which one is worse.” 

“You ca-can’t,” you said breathlessly, your lower lip wobbling. You weren’t even sure what you were talking about, far more conflicted by the fact that you were going to come again than by the idea of whatever he was proposing. But it was mean, even if you didn’t understand.   

“Sure I can,” Sylvain said. “It’s not like you can stop me.”

“Syl-l-vain…” 

“Hey, I was just kidding,” he told you. “I’ve already got plans for tonight. Since it’s your first time, it should be special.”  

At this point, he was outright fucking you with his fingers, keeping you from trying to squirm away from his hand by holding you against his chest. Each thrust was unbearably sloppy sounding, the clap of skin on skin as lewd as the wet squish. The way his palm ground against your clit only added to the growing tension, the inescapable blaze of pleasure. Since you were trapped in place, there was nothing you could do to stop him from getting rougher. 

“It’s too-too much,” you said, unable to escape the assault no matter how you twisted. It just got worse when you moved, when you could feel how hard he was going.  

“Nah, you’re fine,” Sylvain said, his chest rumbling against you. As if to prove that, he slowed for a moment, adding in a third finger. Your pussy accepted it eagerly, but you whined, unable to do anything other than cling to him as you adjusted to the added stretch. “You’ll take whatever your big brother gives you, right?” His words were vile, but they drifted up into your head and your inner walls squeezed his fingers as they thrust and twisted and curled. Too rough, but it didn’t matter,

A moan hiccuped out of you, a sound you couldn’t recall having made ever in your life. Sylvain groaned. 

“That good, huh?” Sylvain asked indulgently. You buried your face against his neck, holding onto him tight for fear of falling apart. 

“I’m… I-I…” 

“You… What?” Sylvain teased. “You’re going to come, aren’t you? I can feel how hard you’re squeezing me, how wet you are…. Yeah, go on. Come all over your big brother’s hand.”

And you did. Whimpering and holding onto him as if your life depended on it, recklessly tossed over the edge by his relentless fingers. The pleasure buzzed through you in a feverish frenzy, different than before. Lower, intense. Your shaking stopped as your body seized. Every breath you took smelled like Sylvain, his body firm and hot against yours. And you knew you were mumbling his name, begging him to keep going, to work you through it. Sylvain was either laughing or groaning and you didn’t care, it just sweetened the high. 

When you reached down to stop him, he pulled his fingers out, trailing them up to swipe across your clit. That made you whimper, hips twitching. Sylvain did it again, chuckling at your attempt to pull away. 

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” he asked. 

You hid your face against his chest instead. Sweaty and ashamed and disgusted, you didn’t want to be there anymore. Or anywhere, really. 

Sylvain grabbed your chin to make you look at him, his fingers smearing evidence of your arousal across your skin. “If you’re too embarrassed to say it, I’ll accept a kiss instead.” 

You looked from his bright eyes to his flushed lips, considering your options. Of the two, kissing would probably be less humiliating. Slightly. 

You nodded and he released your chin, leaving you to take the initiative. Nervously, not meeting his eyes, you ducked forward, your fingertips grazing his cheek. You meant for it to be quick and chaste, but Sylvain had other plans. He caught you, his fingers digging into your hair to tilt your head and keep you there as he licked your lips apart. He kissed you wetly, almost like he was trying to devour you, to claim you. It didn’t matter that you weren’t meeting it, he seemed satisfied enough to take. 

When you whimpered, you felt his hips push upward, the hard press of his erection searing through the layer of clothes. Your whimper became a whine and he groaned, his hands groping your chest, your waist, grinding you against his lap. 

At the point you worried you would pass out from the lack of air, Sylvain pulled back, muttering something like “Hold onto me,” directly against your lips. Breathless and confused, you didn’t get what he meant until you were on your back, Sylvain having rolled above you. The shift didn’t seem to faze him, his lips finding yours again. It was a short kiss, distracted. 

“Since it’s your first time,” Sylvain said, pulling back to cast his jacket onto the floor. The entire front of his shirt was wrinkled by your hands, bearing a wet spot on his shoulder that was either drool or tears. “I’d like to do things traditionally, you know?” The belt came next, the leather tongue pulled free and discarded noisily. He was undressing. 

You squirmed, covering your chest. With the way he was straddling you, it was impossible to get away, but you averted your eyes. 

“You’re not going to watch? Usually girls can’t wait to get to this part,” Sylvain said, “Or… oh, I get it, you’re too embarrassed. It’s not that weird, you know. We are family.” His shirt dropped, you could see the pale expanse of his torso out of the corner of your eye. And you couldn’t help it; you looked. 

Sylvain’s strength was as aesthetically intimidating as it was physically intimidating, and he was every bit as attractive as you might have feared for it. He knew how appealing he was too, looking down at you with that wolfish grin as he undid the button on his pants. Taking them off gave you a moment that you could have gotten away, but you didn’t. You didn’t even think about it. 

There was no denying that Sylvain was one of the most handsome men you’d ever met. You didn’t think anyone could top the perfectly etched lines of muscle, his skin marked here and there with pale scars. Perfect arms to perfect abs to a trail of dark hair that, despite yourself, drew your eyes lower. 

Something in your brain clicked off at the sight of his cock. You weren’t sure if you had been in denial or simply not thought that far ahead, but your pussy squeezed tightly around nothing and you understood what he meant by ‘first time’. Sylvain basked beneath your attention, his hand dropping to casually stroke himself, the flushed red head bobbing with the motion.  

“When you look at me like that, I have a hard time believing you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.” 

“You’re not going to… We’re not… I’ve never b-been with… anyone.”

“That’s pretty obvious.” 

“I have to-to wai—” You squealed when he grabbed your ankle, pulling the leg straight until you fell into a splay in front of him. Sylvain’s eyes fixed hungrily between your legs, his tongue peeking out to swipe across his bottom lip as he continued to stroke his cock. You twitched, trying to pull back, your hands dropping to cover yourself. That made his attention shift up to your face. 

“I can’t let any other guy have you first,” Sylvain said. “I mean, you’re my little sister.” You whined in distress, trying to wiggle away, but he grabbed your other ankle, sliding between your legs. “Don’t act like you don’t want this as bad as I do.” Two of his fingers slipped into your pussy, the whine you let out easily proving his point. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” 

Sylvain pulled away, leaning down to readjust your torso. You exhaled harshly, shaking as uncertainty returned in full force. This was profane. Disturbingly wrong.

“Don’t cover yourself up, okay?” Sylvain told you, prying your arms away from covering your chest and pinning them to the bed. “Otherwise… I dunno, I’ll leave your nipples so sore you won’t even be able to wear a shirt for a few days, let alone one of those cute dresses.” He was grinning like it was a joke. Just like all of this was a joke. “Then again, you’d probably like that.”

Maybe you answered, maybe you didn’t, Sylvain didn’t seem to care as he adjusted your position, his attention focused on lining himself up. It took a few tries before the blunt tip of his cock caught on your hole, just testing the muscles there before the head popped in. A little sound left your mouth, like you were surprised by the feeling. Part of you marveled at it, in utter disbelief that this was real. That this could possibly happen, that things would descend so far that you would land here. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Sylvain hissed, slowly rolling his hips to ease you into it. You barely recognized his voice. Maybe because of how honest he sounded, the words mean and forceful. He exhaled loudly, pushing the backs of your thighs as he sat up. Your knees were almost touching your chest, and he loomed above you. Without the cover of his body, you were fully exposed to his hungry gaze, and Sylvain did nothing to disguise the ravenous lust in his eyes. Your arms twitched, desperate to cover your chest or hide your face. 

“Sylvain?” You meant to be asking for comfort or help or for him to stop or for this to all be revealed as some massive joke played on you, you wanted to beg him to make this make sense. But your voice sounded too high, too breathy. It sounded like a plea for more. 

Sylvain groaned as he selfishly thrust all the way in, pulling your hips down at the same time. The unexpected violence hurt, you could feel how deep he was going, how your pussy had to stretch around him. But your body, the traitorous thing that it was, just took it. With how wet he’d made you, how ready you were in the first place, your doubt now didn’t matter. Even the pain wasn’t enough for you to ignore the indescribably hot weight. His cock filled you entirely, reaching places his fingers hadn’t. 

“Look how well you take your big brother’s cock,” Sylvain said, taking your legs to put them on his shoulders instead. He rolled his hips and your mouth fell open with a moan, your body straining beneath him. Deep. He was incomprehensibly deep. “What does it feel like?” Sylvain punctuated the question with a thrust. Too hard, doing nothing to ease you into it now. Your objection sounded like a moan though, and then again when he didn’t stop. The slap of skin was painfully crude, although not as bad as the desperate cries you couldn’t keep down. Your fingers twisted into the sheets to keep your arms from instinctively covering your tits as they bounced with the harsh rhythm he was keeping.  

“Too… too hard,” you told him, staring at his perfect chest because you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” Sylvain asked, twisting your hips back and forth. It made his cock grind against your g-spot and you whimpered, your back arching like a bridge between him and the bed.

“It—ah…”

“Does it feel good?” He did again. You couldn’t think, all you could focus on was that growing tension within you, the heat, the delicious build of pleasure. Now that you knew what it was, chasing it was that much easier, some perverted seal broken by his touch.  

“Mmm…” 

“Yeah, I’m making you feel good,” Sylvain said, managing to sound cocky even while breathless and mercilessly fucking you. “Say it.”

“You make me feel…feel really… good.” 

“Say how good it feels to get fucked by your brother.” 

You squinted up at him, that disgusted panic returning. Even now, flushed with exertion and in a half-mad frenzied rut, Sylvain looked amused by your distress, eagerly waiting to see what you’d do. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shook your head. “I-I-I can’t.” 

Sylvain grunted. His hand left your hip to draw downwards, and you hoped he was going to touch your clit. Instead, he pressed his palm down flat against your pelvis, right above where you could feel the weight of him entering you. The added pressure made you spasm, your eyes popping open to meet his mirthful gaze. “You’re so easy,” Sylvain told you, like it was funny. “Don’t you want to come?” 

Your body kept twitching, your hips pathetically trying to meet his. It was filthy and shameful, but you did. You desperately did. “Please,” you begged. 

“Sure. All you’ve gotta do is say it,” Sylvain said, adding a little more pressure, making your cunt squeeze him even tighter. That made it easier for him to hit your g-spot, your legs mindlessly kicking against him every time, your mind frazzled past decency. “Come on, you’re leaking all over me. I know how bad you want it.”

You whined, shame and need warring within you. A losing battle from the start. “It feels…so good,” you gasped out, your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers clawing at his sheets to keep from covering your face. “To get-to get… fucked by my… my brother.” 

Sylvain moaned, his other hand digging bruises into your thigh. You whimpered, back arching desperately. “What a disgusting sister I got stuck with,” he got out breathlessly. 

“Please,” you begged, ignoring the humiliation in your shameless chase of satisfaction. 

“Say that you wanna come on your brother’s cock,” Sylvain demanded, his words losing coherency as fast as you were. It occurred to you, somewhere in the very back where you had abandoned your sanity, that this was making him feel good too. The idea that you gave him pleasure made you whimper, peeking up at his expression with the submissive supplication of prey. 

“I wanna… wanna come… on my… my…” A particularly hard thrust cut you off, an overwhelming starburst of raw sensation shaking through you. Violent pleasure. Sylvain muttered encouragement, his big hand pressing down a little harder. He thrust a little harder, a little deeper, and you could have sworn you felt it against his palm as well. “I wanna come on my brother’s cock, please,” you begged, nearly incoherent. 

“Yeah, I know,” Sylvain told you, grabbing your hips again to change the angle until you were wailing, your cunt clamping like a vice around him. You could feel yourself approaching that precipice, so desperate for release. A few more hard thrusts, his cock driving hypnotically deep into your dripping pussy each time, deep enough you felt like you could feel him poking his own hand, and you were gone. The paroxysm of pleasure following that wet snap had your body straining and mouth helplessly agape with a silent cry, your body completely malleable for him to use, helpless to do anything other than feel.

“Fuck, that was hot…” Sylvain muttered as you came down, slowing down and pulling out of you with a terribly slick sound. The loss made your pussy clamp down around nothing. Mourning the loss, you couldn’t help but look at his cock. Flushed and hard and glossy. It was difficult to believe it had fit inside of you. “I guess now I know how to make you do what I say.” 

You blinked up at him, your eyebrows arching inwards uncertainly, the emotion caught in a strange haze of heat. Insecurity finally found a place in your empty mind and you tried to pull away, covering your chest. 

“What did I say?” Sylvain asked, slapping your hands away and pinching your abused nipples. You whined, your body unintentionally arching into the pain. He grabbed your thighs instead, pushing back until you were practically bent in half, his body curling over yours so he could set your legs around his waist.

“What are you…”

“Hold onto me,” Sylvain demanded. He hauled you up so you could throw your arms around his neck, wrapping his own beneath you like a hug. 

With your faces so close, you could see how blown his pupils were. Any traces of Sylvain’s playful mask were wiped from his face, replaced by something feral and dark. One of his arms pulled back to align his cock with your entrance again. Starved eyes watched your expression as he slowly sank back into you, right to the hilt. You moaned breathlessly.

“Say it again,” Sylvain told you, his voice low and intense. Your mouth opened and closed, trying to figure out what he meant, what he wanted. Sylvain punished you with a hard thrust, resting more of his weight onto you, enveloping your body with the suffocating embrace. You could only cling tighter to him, entirely at his mercy. “How good it feels,” Sylvain prompted you, his voice unnervingly flat for how breathless it was. “Tell me.” 

You shuddered, a reaction he must have felt considering he was all but laying on top of you. “It… it feelss-” you broke off with a moan as Sylvain’s hips rolled. The position changed the angle, new pleasure tempting you, curling up in your core. “Goddess, it feels so-so good… Sylvain.” 

“Come on,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be any closer with a human being, even your cheeks were pressed together. Regardless of the sweat or the heat, Sylvain held you flush against him as he worked back up to the rough pace of before, his cock impossibly deep within you. So heavy, so full, your oversensitized pussy squeezing him with the same fervor you had in holding onto his shoulders. “You know what I want.”

Asking you to think while your brain was so overcome with lust and need was cruel of him, trying to recall anything would have been difficult for you in that moment. But your silence earned you a collection of hard, mean thrusts that made you really wail. “It feels… so good,” you said loudly in a desperate attempt to make him stop being so rough, the words stuttering with each hard thrust. “So good to-to get… get fucked by… by my brother.” 

Crushed against his chest, you could feel Sylvain groan, feel the way his hips stuttered. “You’re really… really disgusting, you know that?” he asked with a cruel kind of affection, holding onto you tighter and ignoring the way you whined. 

Doing what he wanted hadn’t made him slow down. The sound of skin slapping and the bed creaking filled the room. Sylvain fucked you without any regard given to the theater or how you were responding, ignoring the way your body unintentionally jolted and twitched with every thrust. It sounded mean, sloppy. And yet you held onto him with such ferocity that your arms and thighs quaked, moaning as he mouthed at your jaw, and then to your neck, leaving kisses and bites across whatever flesh he could reach. 

You didn’t realize you were going to come again until you were already tensing up, squeezing Sylvain with something like panic, trembling and weak as pleasure shuddered through you. He cursed, his arms flexing around you so you couldn’t move as his thrusts became uneven. You felt every noise Sylvain made—every groan, every grunt, every growl—right in your core, making your pussy weakly flutter around him despite how sore the muscles had become, milking him through his orgasm. Breathing hard, his heart racing, Sylvain twitched inside of you, his cock buried deep into your cunt save for a few sharp, shallow thrusts before he stilled entirely.

Then it was just breathing, heat. You could feel that the tension had gone out of Sylvain, his hold on you loosened. Enough, at least, that he could look into your eyes as you sluggishly blinked up at him.

“How are we feeling, gorgeous?” he asked, winded and exhilarated, his red cheeks a match for your own. 

You mumbled something incoherent, even to your own ears. 

“Yeah?” Sylvain asked indulgently. “You know… you can let go, if you want. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but I’m gonna need a minute before I can do that again.” 

Blinking slowly, you released him, dropping onto the bed. Sylvain rolled onto his side, pulling out of you. Like an unstopped bottle, a mixture of your wet arousal and his cum spilled out of your pussy, slicking your inner thighs and staining the sheets with evidence of your depravity. That was very, incredibly, horribly wrong, but your disgust fizzled out before amounting to anything, your brain buzzing on to abstract thoughts. A song they played earlier that night at the ball, the fire’s cheerful crackling, the wind tapping on the window like an unwanted guest. Friends you hadn’t written in too long, a party in Fhirdiad your mother had promised to take you to, the stray cat that hung around the grounds. Anything that wasn’t this, that wasn’t tainted by the icy sickness of shame.

“Are you crying?” Sylvain asked. 

Were you?  

“Come here,” Sylvain said with a frown, dragging you to lay against him. Both of you were sweaty and filthy, and the hand he used to caress your face smelled like sex, but he clearly didn’t care. His expression was pinched with concern, his eyes warm. “Don’t get all worked up about this, okay? It’s not like you can change it now.” 

Cold dread wrung your heart in a vice, reality threatening to tumble through. You hid your face against Sylvain’s chest, squeezing your eyes shut to try and shut it all out. No, you couldn’t change it. Even if you pretended, even if you feigned ignorance, even if you left this cold, terrible place, you couldn’t take it back. 

Sylvain wrapped his arm around you, his fingers trailing lightly across your spine. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice rumbling against you. “This was going to happen at some time, you’re lucky your first time was with a guy who wanted to make it special.” 

You sniffed, wishing you could shut his voice out. 

“I mean it,” Sylvain told you, pulling your face up to look at him. “One day, you’re going to be unhappily married to some jerk who doesn’t care about anything other than your mother’s money and you’ll come crawling back into my bed, begging your big brother to take care of you.” A smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing yours. “But don’t worry, I will. Family should always come first.”

#sylvain jose gautier #fe sylvain #sylvain jose gautier x reader #fe sylvain x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #my writing #not sfw #tw.noncon #tw.incest

[intjgodcomplex]

The hunting of Beyond birthday

~Mello's point of vue~

The sun was supposed to start rising anytime now, but i couldn't tell if it did because of the grim location of our so called apartment. Not that it would've changed anything if the sunlight falled inside the room, having spent my childhood in the grimly orphanage, Wammy's house, cold and godless nights live in my bones.

I stretched my arms above my head, the bright white light of the old computer illuminating the dark room. I had finished writing it, turning one of my rare conversation with L into a novel. It felt good to know that my existence left a trace, even if it will just be a file on a computer that was on the verge of falling apart. Well, perhaps not the only trace if you could count the ashes of all the essays and exams i had burned because of always lacking one mark to achieve perfection. But life found it's way to remain unfair, all while dangling perfection at fingertips out of my reach.

I couldn't hear the usual beeping sound of matt's gameboy, he was asleep on the couch behind me. He was wearing his usual red sweater and jeans, neither of us bothering to change from our rather uncomfortable clothes.

I sighted and got up, walking through the corridor illuminated by a couple strands of light from the computer. I intuitionaly stopped mid way, goosebumps breaking out of my skin when i felt a presence behind me. When i was sure from the emptiness of the corridor, i went into the bathroom and turned the bright while light on, dust particles could be seen around the lamp.

When i looked into the mirror, my tired reflection stared back at me. For a brief second, i saw younger me in the mirror. We shared the same tiredness of staying up late to achieve the perfect essay, perfect novel, perfect genius, perfect misfortunate orphan...

Then all of a sudden, as i went to turn on the faucet, my usual brown eyes went red as if they were made from glass and you could see the blood underneath.

I stumbled back against the counter, accidentally slashing my hand on the razor, the blood escaping my veins onto the white floor. A loud bang came from my and Matt's room, grabbing the cut to stop the bleeding, i ran back to the room to check on Matt but he wasn't on the couch sleeping like he was. The sound of cabinets slapping came from the small kitchen attached to the living room.

Feeling my fear go away and get replaced by anger, i went to the living room, turning on the tacky white light.

"Matt what the-" As i was going to start my angry rant, something felt off.

Matt didn't turn to look at me. He stopped opening and slamming the cabinets, he was just staring in front of him.

"Hello mello" It wasn't Matt's voice that came out of Matt's mouth. It sounded sinisterly entertained.

I stumbled slightly backwards, my eyes widening when Matt turned. He looked like it wasn't him who was moving his own limbs, like a puppet on a string without a mind of it's own. It was just his eyes that were different, they were... red.

"...Matt?" I grabbed onto the counter.

"That's a nice little book you wrote about me," The unsual voice said while Matt was standing right in front of me.

It took a few seconds for me to find my voice, "Beyond- that's impossible!" The dots connected in my heads, i felt the need to vomit.

"You should be quite familiar with the impossible by now," Beyond's voice jumped between the walls of the house and the walls of my brain. "Notebooks that kills, gods of deaths... I mean how impossible is it for someone to work so hard yet still die like a nobody."

I gritted my teeth, "Leave Matt alone!" I wanted to grab a weapon, but i knew that it would just result in hurting Matt.

"You know it won't make much of a difference if i killed him now," Matt's body grabbed a knife like a puppet on strings. "You both don't have a lot of time left."

I felt my heart sink to my stomach at his words. Beyond must have noticed that, even though i had mastered controlling my facial expressions, and his sinister laugh echoed through the walls.

"That really surprised you" He said between his laughter, "You failed everything in your life, did you really think you're going to win this time, that life will be merciful and let you taste victory one time before you rot?"

I couldn't find anything to say. I knew he was right. This my curse, i will always fail. I will get up and try again, and i will still fail. If i'm good i'm not great, and if i'm great i'm not perfect.

This will just be my last time failing.

I took a few steps back when Matt's body approached, not afraid of him hurting me, but rather of me hurting him by trying to defend myself.

But he didn't attack me, instead, he dipped his finger into the drops of blood on the counter that dripped from my wound.

I watched in horror as he started to trace number by number, i knew what those numbers were and i wanted to look away and not read them but it was too late to look away.

It's my date of death, my final day alive, the 27th January, two weeks from now.

"A little present from me." Beyond's entertained voice said, "You too should make the most of it till then, before you die like dogs, like nobodies."

The house went silent and so did my head as a feeling of dread washed over me.

Matt's body fell on the floor, and before i jumped to help him, i wiped the date away, not wanting him to see it.

The fear never left me as i carried Matt's passed out body to our room. I felt an unexplainable guilt as i placed him on the bed, the thought that i dragged him with me to our deaths.

"I'm sorry Matt."

#angst #death note #light yagami #l lawliet #nate river #near #mihael keehl #misa amane #mello #aesthetic #l #fanfictions #death note shitpost #death note fandom #mello and matt #mail jeevas #damage #beyond birthday #bb #beyond birthday is a little shit #and quirky #death note headcanons #character death

[0rb0t]

Don't mind me, just talking about Shadow as being on the autistic spectrum, and how his portrayal in the games and anime (before 2010s era) reflected this even if it was never outright stated.

(TIME FOR A CHARACTER ANALYSIS ABOUT SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG)

    When I was in high school, I struggled a lot in social situations, I'd go completely stiff and just watch people. I had a "resting bitch face", I never really could have conversations and seemed to just fixate on things. I'd make observations that irritated people. I'd ask "why" a lot. (Asking why or even asking 'obvious' questions seemed to make people think I was questioning their judgment, or that I was challenging them. But no, I just didn't understand and wanted clarification. I still run into this a lot and I wish people would stop assuming I have ulterior motives. I just wanna understand stuff better cause it doesn't connect for me. Even if it seems obvious. I'm the genius that asked my mom why she was crying at her dad's funeral when I was 11. It's not that I didn't understand why Grandpa was gone, I knew he passed away, but it hadn't really landed for me, and my brain registered my mom's sadness before it registered the why.)

    I didn't like small talk (still don't) and would rather every interaction have a specific purpose. You'd never catch me at a party and I didn't think drinking or drugs looked fun or interesting. The act of rebelling didn't interest me either. The few interests I did have were something I'd always go back to, and I couldn't function without them. (For me, drawing has always been a huge part of my life and if I didn't have a pencil or pen and paper, then I couldn't hear. I know, very weird. If I were doodling or just even had my sketchbook open, I could study a lot easier. In High school, my teachers started telling me to put the sketchbook away, and my grades plummeted because my attention did, too. Trying to tell them just kind of led to the same old "well everyone else can't doodle so you can't either". I wasn't in any of the special ed stuff because I guess I masked too well.)

    Sonic 06 and Sonic X have the same characterization for Shadow, especially in Japanese, and I think that's honestly the best he'd ever been-- he's quiet, he's reserved, he observes and he doesn't like to "waste time". Not because he's edgy, not because he's a jerk or too serious, but because he struggles in social situations and he's more introverted. He doesn't want to be the centre of attention, he doesn't enjoy any of that. Shadow also behaves like an adult, and I'm sure a ton of us on the spectrum have heard that before, that we're very mature for our age. In reality, we can't relate with our peers and have very fixated interests that don't really expand to other things. Limited interests and we just wanna do stuff tied to that. We know so much about that one thing or those things, but those things won't get you ahead in school. Unless you're LUCKY and your fixation is math, oy vey! (My fixation was etymology. I loved learning and knowing where words came from. Useful for 2 seconds in English class, quickly loses its usefulness in a skill-oriented world.)

    I don't even think he's naturally boastful, at least he wasn't since SA2 (when he was an antagonist), but Sonic brings out a competitive side in him. Sonic brings out the childhood-self that he lost to trauma and being sealed away. Shadow never got to be a normal kid/adult. He has always had expectations placed on him. I think Sonic really brings out a side of him that even surprises himself. It's why he will even say very often "What am I doing?" or "This is such a waste of time!" but he won't STOP… Because he's having fun and doesn't know how to describe his own feelings. Shadow's the type who'll say "I'm fine" no matter what state he's in when you ask if he's okay. My spouse is like this actually-- I can often tell when he's feeling down, but he doesn't know how to describe emotions beyond functional things like "i'm healthy" or "i'm unhealthy", so he'll say he's fine even if he's having a melancholy day. I struggle with understanding my emotional responses, but not necessarily identifying them. A lot of people on the spectrum do struggle with identifying their emotions beyond empirical things. "Do I feel sick? No? then I'm fine" Shadow is exactly like this. And because his expression is so neutral, sometimes intense, he gets mistaken as being angry or too serious. In reality, he's just standing there. He's not gonna expend energy smiling when he's got nothing to smile about. Why force yourself to emote for people? Especially if it feels unnatural.

    Another thing about Shadow being autistic is if he's got nothing to say, then he won't say it. If he wants to leave, he'll leave. Good luck stopping him! But for many actual people it's not an option to leave. We can't just teleport out or skate at lightning speeds like he can, so we have to just sit there and do little coping or self soothing methods to keep ourselves in the moment and calm. We don't often see Shadow stimming in traditionally understood ways, like lip biting or rubbing his arms or fidgeting with his fingers-- but he often stands with his arms crossed. This CAN BE a stim. Feeling the weight of your arms on top of each other, it allows for you to be aware of your own body. I fold my arms a lot in public, because I'm usually playing with the hem of my sleeves, or I'm rubbing my arms or squeezing them. Shadow doesn't seem to do any of that but he's rarely seen without his arms folded.

    When his arms aren't folded, he stands so still and just stares at people. He looks completely out of his element. He doesn't seem to have a relaxed stance--until the anime, where he's shown standing with his hand on his hip. Rouge also does this, leading to the popular headcanons that Shadow is unintentionally imitating Rouge-- his masking leads him to identify the most 'normal' person in the room and copy their behavior in order to blend in better. Unfortunately it rarely, in my experience, leads to people NOT thinking I'm weird. Sometimes I'll even start imitating speech patterns or accents and BOY. I don't even realize I'm doing it until it HAPPENS. So embarrassing. But Shadow absolutely imitates everyone around him. We can see him do this even as far back as Sonic Heroes--that scene where he's nodding or shaking his head to whatever Rouge is saying. The scene where Sonic starts getting competitive and Shadow starts kind of imitating his posture and his way of speaking to become competitive with them-- I don't even think he realizes he's doing it. But it also makes sense with his NAME.

    His name is Shadow. I think of Peter Pan, where Peter's Shadow can sometimes get away from him. Usually it does everything he does, but sometimes it gets away and does its own things, and Peter has to catch it. Wendy sews the shadow back on in Hook. I think Shadow's name is referencing that as well, that just like a shadow, he mimics those around him. He's watching over them, but also copying them. Learning to blend in.

    Another moment I adore is in SA2 (and Sonic X) when Amy Rose hugs him from behind. According to the 2010s era and early IDW, you'd have expected Shadow to push her away or yell DONT TOUCH ME or whatever. But no, he actually just goes REALLY RIGID and doesn't even say anything. It isn't until Amy realizes her mistake that Shadow turns around to look at her, smiling like 'What are you doing???' But in Sonic X, they changed this scene further into autistic territory--

    Shadow doesn't even TURN to her. He goes rigid, yes, and his eyes widen and he just stands there looking towards the audience like 8| He's completely OUT OF HIS ELEMENT. He prepared for the mission, NOT to deal with random people HUGGING HIM. He's probably not been hugged since Maria over 50 years ago. We don't even know if Maria hugged him much because Shadow has always seemed pretty touch-averse. I love GIVING hugs and I love receiving hugs but only from people I'm REALLY close to. I don't even like getting hugs from extended family. My spouse? VERY touch averse. He'll get hugs from me but hugging and touch are just not his thing. Shadow is not a huggy person, but he does tend to hold hands.

    We know he grabbed and held Maria's hand, running with her-- but we never actually saw that until Sonic X (2003) he can be seen running with her away from the military, and he's holding her hand as he leads her. In Shadow the Hedgehog, Maria often grabs Shadow's hand when telling him things. This is also a grounding method to bring the person into the moment. For me, I feel like I can focus better on what my spouse is saying to me when he holds my hand and it's crowded or busy. Even in our home, if he wants to tell me something, I recommend that he hold my hand or touch my arm so I can focus on him better. This happens with Shadow.

    Sonic doesn't tend to hold peoples' hands. In Sonic X he usually just picks people up, but we do see him grab Elise's arm in 06 and run with her. But holding hands? Not really his thing! Shadow does do it more often though. In Sonic X S3, in the episode, Molly's Dream, Shadow's immediate way of leading Molly away from danger is to grab and hold her hand. He even keeps holding her hand until she lets go. It speaks to me the sort of childlike behavior he may still be exhibiting, but not that I'm trying to say that autistic people are more like children. From my experience on the spectrum, I am more childish than my peers. I still react like a kid might to things, and I don't really think like an adult is expected to. I am mentally behind my peers as well, I think my emotional maturity is lower? But it's hard to measure that without a doctor. It's not just about laughing at fart jokes or knowing to pay bills, it's like, how I problem solve is more creatively aligned with kids than it is adults. This is both great and terrible, depending on the situation. A situation that requires math and stuff cannot be solved my way. A situation that involves encouraging kids to try again or be nice to each other, well it's very useful because I can communicate with them on their level (I was a teacher in South Korea for over half a decade, my brain was great for being a teacher but not great for other things).

    I think Shadow really gets misread as a mean guy a lot, but he really isn't. I also don't really enjoy the headcanons that imagine him as very outgoing and whimsical when he was on the ARK, and I especially don't like headcanons that infantilize him-- I really don't like headcanons where people infantilize autistic people. We've seen Shadow when he loses his memories a few times. In Heroes, but also in S3 of Sonic X-- his personality is still the same. He's still reserved, he's still quiet, he still struggles in social situations and prefers getting to the point rather than dilly-dallying. I'd argue that he was exactly like that before the incident on the ARK, too. It's just that the incident caused his inner peace to be destroyed. His precious person, Maria, was no longer around and he lost everything all at once. He doubled down on the one thing that made sense: Revenge. But even after all of that was sorted out, he's not gonna just magically be a different person. He's still reserved, he's still serious, he's still "get to the point". If he played FFXIV, he'd only focus on main quests, and never do side quests. He'd never spend money on cosmetics, probably. He's likely a person who values gameplay over story. If the game is broken or the mechanics aren't utilized well, that's probably more what he'd be fixated on than whether the story was good or not. He'd skip through dialogue because he reads fast, even if the dialogue is voiced (my spouse does this and it drives me nuts. SHADOW I BEG OF YOU PLEASE DO IT FOR ME, DISABLE THE VOICE ACTING IN OPTIONS SO I STOP HEARING THE FIRST UTTERANCE OF A WORD EVERY TIME U MASH THROUGH THE DIALOGUE)

    Trauma affects people in all kinds of ways. I don't think all autistic people are like Shadow, because autism is a spectrum and no two people present exactly the same, although there will be similarities. Shadow's trauma happened at a time where he barely knew himself already, so that's why it was so easy for him to fixate on revenge, and then he'd be content with dying afterwards because he figured he had nothing left to live for. Finding out he was wrong was the best thing that could have happened to him.

    I was really saddened when SEGA decided he was an edgelord who hated everything and had no friends because that's such a horrible read of this nuanced character. In my personal headcanons for Shadow, he's actually very into plants and flowers, because Maria loved the planet so much. And eventually he learns to love the planet because of nature. Shadow's never going to be a people person, in fact he probably still doesn't care much for people as a whole, but that doesn't mean he won't step up when they need his help. Which is why his line in Sonic 06 is still so poignant. "If the world chooses to become my enemy, then I'll fight like I always have." Basically, it really doesn't matter, I've made my choice, I know who I am now and I get to make those decisions. No one else will shake the foundations of who I am.

    And because he knows who he is, he doesn't feel the need to repeat it and boast about himself. He's confident, not arrogant. He can be smug and competitive, but that's playfulness, not cruelty. He's quiet and may just straight up walk away while someone is mid-sentence, but that's not because he's evil or intentionally being a jerk-- it's just how he is. He needs to work on it if he wants to have friends, but his friends already understand him very well. They know that he's like that, and from what we saw in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, occasionally they forget it's not personal. I'm happy to see them admitting "oh no, I completely misjudged you, I'm so sorry!" because it's been way too long since we've heard the main cast apologize to Shadow for assuming he was a big jerk on purpose.

    Knowing the restrictions on how Shadow is written have been lifted, I'm really hoping we can get more of how he's meant to be, the reserved, socially awkward but well-meaning hedgehog we love. Autistic Shadow FTW!

    

(our experiences and headcanons

may differ, that's okay.)

#character analysis #character meta #shadow character meta #shadow the hedgehog #long post #sonic the hedgehog #sth shadow #shadow autism moments #he's just like me fr fr #sonic headcanons #shadow headcanons